


The Boy I Was Back Then

by Spinsomnia



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron)-centric, Langst, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Self-Harm, adult klance, also some comedy, klance, klangst, there's some fluff too, you cant be crying all the time right?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-09-29 07:34:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 44,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17199260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spinsomnia/pseuds/Spinsomnia
Summary: TW: BLOOD TW: SELF-HARM TW: DEPRESSIONLance has been avoiding everyone for years since Allura's death. Determined to believe his Altean marks are a curse and hell-bent on self-destruction, Lance tries to get rid of them. Only one person can bring Lance back from the brink of insanity and remind him of the boy he used to be. (Lance centric)





	1. Pain

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write angst like this, but I enjoyed this first part a lot (I don't know what that says about me). tw: blood/self-harm/depression - now you know what you're getting into. With that in mind, please enjoy! :)

Why did it have to be _him_ ? Of all people? Why _him?_

Lance was jolted awake with the thought. Daylight was no more forgiving today than it usually was. Neither was the storm in his head; perpetually fueled by the same demons that had haunted him for years. But this morning he was distracted by another disturbing thought - an alcohol hazed memory of the night before. Lance bolted upright in the unfamiliar bed in panic. _He was in the wrong room…_

His mouth tasted sour and dry. His whole body ached and just blinking took conscious, physical effort. That wasn’t daylight above his head. It was the blare of electric spotlights attached to a solid ceiling. He was enclosed in a boxy, clinical room. Head pounding from his cocktail of hangover and confusion, Lance focused on the sleek door that had slid open, prompting the cruel lights to turn on and wake him up.  

“Good morning, Lance… or… afternoon.” Said Keith. If it hadn’t been for the faded scar and haphazard ponytail tied at the nape of his neck, Lance would have believed he’d been thrown back in time. His worst nightmare was the Past, and it was standing in the doorway holding a plate of pancakes drizzled in maple syrup.

Pleasantries were the last thing on Lance’s list of priorities as he stared, dumbfounded, at Keith’s pinched smile.

“How the fuck did I get here?”

 

**_One Night Earlier_ **

 

This was a bad idea. Lance had known it was a bad idea long before he’d agreed to come to the reunion party. As he had done for the past six years, Lance had moved the invite to the trash as soon as it had been mailed to his computer. But then Shiro had turned up out of the blue and said kindly (but firmly) that everyone wanted Lance to be there. That they missed him. The sentiment had made Lance scoff at the time because he could barely imagine such a thing, but he’d regretted it the moment he’d seen Shiro’s face: disappointment etched all over his features. The shame from that alone had prompted Lance to take up the invitation. At the very least, if he showed his face tonight, he might be able to get away with not being present at the annual reunion for another six years.

It hadn’t been that easy.

A lot had changed in half a dozen years. More than Lance had known.

In the past, people had come up to him willingly with their “I’m so sorry”’s and their “we all miss her”’s and Lance had stood there, taking it all with grateful smiles and pained “thank you”’s while he concentrated hard on not crying in public. Now, Lance was met with whispers behind hands, quickly averted eyes and hurried “I hope you’ll excuse me”’s. As always, every pair of eyes that greeted him fell to the marks on his face; the Altean blemishes that stood, stark and neon blue against his dark skin. Some strangers in the past had had the audacity to tell him they “brought out his eyes” and that they were a “beautiful gift from his dearly departed”. But Lance had stopped thinking about the marks that way the day he’d decided he didn’t want to see any of his old friends ever again.

Atlas 2.0 was the oh so imaginative name the Holts had decided to go with for their new enterprise vessel. It was a huge thing, capable of transforming over a thousand rooms into any purpose they desired. For the purpose of the reunion, Atlas 2.0 took on the guise of a gigantic mirrored ballroom, complete with a mezzanine for guests to chat, catch up and drink at their leisure. For Lance, it was just another nightmare. An extravagant one, sure, but a nightmare all the same.

The walls tipped inward and the conversations turned to muffled white-noise in his head. Everything lost its colour - the guests, their clothes, the bright alien beverages glowing poisonously from crystal glasses - it all paled into insignificance at the sight of Lance’s own reflection facing him from a mirrored doorway. The Altean marks on his cheekbones screeched at him, ostracizing him as a shard of blue amongst the crowds.

Amongst the dim chatter, Lance heard whispers:

_-”It’s been years”-_

_-”He looks strange”-_

_-”Imagine having those on your face your entire life”-_

_-”He’s not a real Altean. He’s human.”-_

Lance tried to pretend they didn’t exist. But they weren’t just all around him. They were in his head, too. Muttering in his ears, even when he clamped his hands over them. Breathing down his neck, sending shivers down his spine. They glared at him with unfamiliar, hostile eyes -

“Lance!”

Lance snapped his eyes open - _that_ voice was real - and found himself face to face with his old best friend.

“H-hunk.” He stammered, disorientated as the world slowly came back into focus. “Hey.”

Hunk’s beam faded as he studied Lance’s appearance. “It’s been a while, man.”

His old friend wasn’t stupid. He used to have to put up with Lance’s bullshit all the time when they were kids. He was terrified Hunk would see through him.

Lance attempted a laugh, but it had been so long since he’d done anything of the sort that it came out as more of a raspy wheeze.

“Yeah, time has really flown.”

Hunk looked doubtful. Lance glanced beyond his old friend’s shoulder and noticed Shiro watching their exchange, and he didn’t miss the way Shiro’s expression switched from concern to a smile as he caught Lance’s eye.

Lance returned one, albeit strained, and followed the two men to a table. Shiro’s husband Curtis was there, and so was Pidge and Rizavi and more MFE pilot trainees that Lance didn’t recognise. Not that he cared to. He wasn’t planning on staying. To his comfort, his friends hadn’t changed too much. Pidge and Hunk were still the animated duo he remembered, although these days much of the conversation rotated around travel and democracy and careers and _kids_ and all of the things Lance had never done because…

Well, there was no reason.

The farming was something, wasn’t it? He’d done his duty for a few years - expanding her message throughout the cosmos until he got so tired of smiling and talking and saying her name that he couldn’t even find the strength to get out of bed. It was his greatest failure and his only achievement. The campaigning felt like a lifetime ago. Everything did. Even right now, as he watched his old friends and teammates laugh together, it all felt like another lifetime that didn’t belong to him.

And then, “Where’s Keith?”

Lance hadn’t meant to interrupt. He hadn’t even been listening until the thought slipped from his mouth.

“Errr.....” Said Pidge, with a sideways glance at Hunk.

“He was here just before you arrived.” Shiro said gently, “I’ll go find him.”

Lance vaguely wondered what Keith looked like now. Probably no different from last time. Relaxed. Ready to smile. A sanctimonious tone to his soft, friendly voice. Ugh. Lance downed the drink Hunk put in front of him. It tasted bitter.

Lance scoured the room for Veronica, but he knew all too well his sister was too busy to come tonight - she’d called him _just_ to apologise. But he was still pissed. He didn’t ask his family for much. This might have been easier if she was here too. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so… alone.

“Hunk, get me another one of those.”

“A-are you sure? They’re pretty stron”-

-”I don’t care.”

Lance decided the waiters in this place were the only people with any sense. Whenever he was out of... whatever this stuff was, there was a tray ready and waiting for him to pick up a new, glittering glass.Things immediately began to look up as the edges of the room smeared in his peripherals and his reflection on the walls became a blurry version of someone who looked a bit like him. He still didn’t like looking at it though.

Lance relaxed a little, and overheard a trainee pilot animatedly recalling his first experience in the cockpit. Hunk gave Lance a meaningful look as the kid went on about the spinning simulator and the urge not to throw up with the sensation.

“Ha,” Lance slurred, “Sound familiar?”

Hunk punched him on the arm. “Shuddup.”

The trainee perked up - a small blonde kid with beady green eyes.

“Aren’t you Lance McClain?”

The whole table went silent. Lance tensed, sitting upright in his seat.

“Uh - yeah. You’re a pilot?”

The boy puffed out his chest. “Will be soon. They say I’m one of the best on the team.”

Pidge and Rizavi simultaneously rolled their eyes. They’d clearly heard this before.

“Sure,” Lance drawled, “Keep dreaming, kid.”

The boy frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rizavi cleared her throat. “Now, gentlemen”-

-”It means things will never turn out the way you think they will. Trust me.” Lance glopped back another shot, “You’ll thank me later.”

The kid’s face went stone-hard and Lance couldn’t help but feeling a rush at provoking the little upstart. _Go on,_ he willed, _try and deny it._

“Oh, yeah? You’re just an old man. I heard about what happened to you. You washed out when you were barely twenty years old.”

“Wade!” Pidge warned, “Watch yourself.”

Lance waved her off. “Nah, nah. Let him go off. This is the most entertainment I’ve had in years.”

The kid, _Wade_ , was shaking his head in disbelief.

“So you turn up here, getting the benefits of all _our_ hard work when you do - what exactly? I’m gonna _be_ something. Not just a one-hit-wonder like you. They told me the Blue Paladin was a brave guy. I’m disappointed.”

“Remember that feeling.” Lance spat. “It’ll haunt you forever until either you die or someone you love does. Then you’ll feel nothing. Then you’ll wish it had been you.”  

Lance’s glass was empty. He cursed under his breath and glanced around for more. His head was spinning. Everyone on the table was watching him with bated breath, horror plastered on their faces.

“Lance…” Hunk began, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Lance leapt up like the touch was an electric shock. “DON’T!” He yelled, probably far too loudly. Probably drawing attention to himself. He didn’t care. “Don’t even try, Hunk. Don’t _any_ of you try - you - you’ve got no fucking idea! None of you…I… ”

Lance’s heart thudded, louder and louder each second, vying to break free from his ribcage. He was going to have a panic attack. He realised the fact seconds before stumbling away from the table towards one of the mirrored doors, searching for a bathroom. An attendant (probably just thinking Lance was very drunk… which he was) pointed him in the right direction.

Lance tripped into the bathroom. It was dark. Empty. Mirrored. Mirrors everywhere. Mirrors haunting him wherever he went. Mirrors to remind him of what he was. What he’d done. _What she’d done to him_.

Lance braced over the pristine sink, drawing in shaky breaths. He felt constricted. Every muscle in his body seized and screamed. Tears pooled and fell before he could stop them. He caught his own dismayed reflection and his stomach heaved. They were there. They were _always_ there… these marks. These cursed, beautiful Altean markings - perfectly placed to remind him of his pain for the rest of his life.

At first, Lance had thought of them as a blessing. He’d seen them as a sign to give in and spread peace. To spread love and kindness and the message of the girl who’d given herself up for the universe.

It hadn’t lasted long.

There were still battles.

There were still squadrons attacking small planets for no reason.

There were still the elite Galran few who’d managed to retain a following from the greatest war of them all.

There were still moments when Lance, in his lowest moments, wished he never had to remember this pain.

_He wished he could cut it out._

The thought led with it an action that seemed to Lance, the only rational thing left to do. And he wondered why he hadn’t thought of this before. It would be so easy…

Lance reached into his jacket and drew out his pocket knife. It wasn’t the sharpest blade, but this one would do fine. Just fine.

Chest heaving as he sucked in breath after hasty breath, Lance gazed wildly at the broken man in the mirror. The lines under his eyes were deep from lack of sleep. His hair was overgrown and his expression was tortured. But the marks remained, strong and true. Bright and blue. People used to tell Lance that Allura was everywhere. They used to say she was in the stars, weaving the web of the cosmos together and protecting them from above. He used to believe them. He used to touch the marks on his face at night as he gazed up at the galaxy overhead, counting the constellations and talking to thin air as if she could hear him. Lance didn’t talk to the stars anymore.

“Goodbye, Allura.” He gasped out, before raising the blade to his face to make the first cut.

Sharp, dizzying pain stemmed from the cruel blade, but it fuelled him, and he cut deeper. Warm blood trickled down his face like tears and -

“LANCE!”

Lance froze, movement stirring in the reflection behind him. He dropped the blade with a clatter and spun around to face the intruder, his neck crawling as hot blood snaked further down, leaching into his collar.

The long haired man in the doorway sprung forward as Lance fell, catching him seconds before his head hit the cold tiles. Lance wished it had.

The man’s violet eyes were startlingly familiar. As was the long, faint scar reaching from his jawline to his cheekbone.

“Lance… Lance, what happened? What did you - what did you _do_?”

The pain and the alcohol and the panic distorted every lie and twisted truth Lance wished he could say, so he was utterly honest when he whispered,

“I just wanted to be me again.”

And then the world went black.


	2. Prison

When Lance had hit rock bottom, he rather imagined he’d stay there. And yet here he was - propped up in bed against two fat, fluffy pillows, a plate of delicious smelling pancakes drizzled in maple syrup thrust under his nose. Presumably he’d been fire-man carried here over Keith’s shoulder. The thought didn’t sit well. Nor would food, he presumed, judging by the way his stomach lurched at the idea of eating.

He pushed the plate away. “Keith, I don’t want your fucking pancakes.” He snapped, not really meaning to. But it was turning into one of those mornings.

Keith’s expression remained blank as he pulled away, instead opting to put the plate on the floor beside Lance’s temporary bed.

“Just… tell me what happened.” Lance softened his tone. Tried to, anyway. His voice still sounded like gravel.

Keith cleared his throat, arching a single, black brow. “You don’t remember?”

Lance huffed, touching the dressing on his cheekbone. Had Keith done that for him too?

“I - I mean… _yes_ , but why”-?

-”There was no way any of us were letting you go back to Earth. Not like that” Said Keith, his violet, unchanged eyes intense as he surveyed Lance. Lance felt like a specimen under that gaze, confined to the bedsheets while Keith stood above him as this superior precipice of morality. Although Lance supposed he wasn’t _really_ confined. He could get up and leave any time he wanted.

In one swift motion that tugged on his tender muscles more than he’d care to admit, Lance threw back the covers, ready to march out of that room and to wherever the hell the nearest escape pod was when -

“Keith.”

“Yes?”

“Where are my trousers?”

 _Someone_ had nearly completely stripped him. At least they’d left him the dignity of his underwear, but he was missing his socks, his shirt, his jacket and his shoes.

“In the laundry.” Said Keith simply, crossing his arms.

Lance clicked his tongue. “Well, get them _out_ of the laundry so I can _leave_.”

“Can’t. It’s a two-hour cycle. I put them in ten minutes ago.” Keith replied haughtily. He was a strange adult version of the emo loner teen leader of Voltron Lance remembered right now. He shook his head. He had to stop separating them as two different people… or maybe it was better if he dissociated the two. Boy Keith could stay boy Keith and adult Keith could stay adult Keith. That way there was no risk of… _feelings_. Because as soon as Lance involved his feelings and his friends, he began to feel again. The hollowness was easier. The disregard was easier. He’d quite like to keep it that way.

“I suppose I’ll be going home naked then,” Lance conceded, leaping out of bed and making for the door.

But Keith was a quick obstacle - a solid pillar of muscle and ponytail. Although he was, Lance was pleased to see, still shorter than him. Lance wobbled as the world span, but he tried not to let it show as he stood in the middle of the room.

“Should I ask again politely or do I have to force you?” Lance threatened. He was as threatening as he could be, given all he had on was his underwear. The fresh wound on his face was prickling with heat beneath the bandage.

Keith’s eyes flashed at the challenge.

“Try me.” He scoffed, “You aren’t getting a foot out of that door.”

And if he was being perfectly honest, Lance knew he wouldn’t stand a chance. He hadn’t partaken in so much as a push up in the last ten years, let alone prepared himself for combat. Keith was in formal, black clothing - thankfully not the Blade of Marmora get-up he’d been in six years ago, or Lance might have found him more intimidating, but he had no doubt he could still put him on his ass.

Lance sighed, rolling his eyes. “Oh get lost, Keith.”

The hand Lance had placed on Keith’s shoulder to shove him sideways was grabbed and viciously twisted until he was forced to his knees with an embarrassingly high-pitched, _ow, ow ow!_ as his wrist was manipulated into quite an acrobatic position. One more squeeze and it would break.

“Get off of me!” He screeched, wriggling to get out of Keith’s viper grip.

“No can do. Not until you promise you won’t go anywhere until you at _least_ eat your pancakes.”

“Are you fucking serious right n- _ow!_ Keith, that fucking hurts! Fine! I’ll eat your dumb pancakes just” - !

Keith released Lance, who stumbled to his feet, rubbing his wrist and sending daggers in the old Black Paladin’s direction.

“You know,” Lance growled out, nursing his sore wrist, “you’re still just as much of a jackass as you used to b”-

Lance’s foot squished into something warm and alarmingly sticky on the floor. _Not the pancakes, please not the pancakes._ He craned his neck over his shoulder with withering dread to see that he had, indeed, stepped in the neatly stacked pile of pancakes - now obliterated into a sweet, sticky mush around his foot.

“Oops.” Said Lance.

A pregnant pause followed his wake, and before he knew it, Keith had turned away from him, marched out of the door and shut it firmly behind him.

 _Shit_.

“Are you kidding?” Lance shouted at the spot where Keith had been standing before he’d flounced off behind the stupid shiny door. It was one of those high-tech doors with no handle. It blended into the white glass panels seamlessly. Lance didn’t even know how to get out. With a sickening squelch, he withdrew his heel from the pancake mush and fell back onto the bed, holding his leg aloft so the pieces still stuck there didn’t get smeared all over the stupid shiny floor.

Huffing and muttering, _“drama queen”,_ Lance lay on his back, his leg elevated parallel to the floor, and shut his tired eyes.

“I don’t believe this,” He groaned. Not only was this whole situation a _mess_ , (literally. There was pancake all over his foot) it was also just… bizarre. Lance couldn’t remember the last time he’d had to speak to another human being so much. Let alone _Keith_. And why did he have the unsettling sensation that nothing had changed? For years now, Lance had made himself calculate every tiny thing he was going to say to another person. He was reserved in conversations unless there was a valid reason for him not to be and lately being quiet and melding into the background as best he could had become second nature.

Around Keith, Lance found the words just… slipping out. Hot, spiky anger flooded his veins and he was overcome with the sensation to _throw_ something. What an asshole.

“Interfering, stupid, ponytail-headed asshole,” Lance ground out.

“That’s nice.” Came the blunt reply from the doorway.

For the second time that morning, Lance bolted upright from the bed, although this time the action prompted maple syrup to fly off his foot and onto the bed-sheets. _What had he come back for?_

“Forget your attitude?” Lance fired before he could stop himself. _Shut up… what is wrong with you?_

Keith blinked. “No. I brought a cleaning cloth.”

Keith held up a cleaning cloth.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, _oh_. Do you want to clean up yourself or shall I do it for you?”

 _Ouch_. In all fairness, Keith had every right to be as scalding as he was right now. He had walked in on Lance slandering him, after all.

“I’ll do it.” Lance grumbled, finding the decency to avert his eyes. He felt like an idiot, sat there ninety-percent naked, wiping pancake and maple syrup off his foot like a naughty kid.

“Don’t worry,” He sighed, “I’ll be out of your hair soon. Then you can get back to that saving the universe, helping people shit you like to do these days.”

When no fiery comeback made its way over, Lance glanced up to find Keith staring at him with the oddest expression.

“I…”

“What?”

Keith shook his head, exhaling a long slow breath.

“I’m sorry for shouting at you and hurting you before. I wasn’t trying to.”

What. The. Fuck.

Lance gaped at Keith in disbelief. Okay. This was definitely _not_ the guy he remembered from ten years ago. Hell, even Keith six years ago might not have said all that. He didn’t really know because they hadn’t talked properly, they’d only exchanged polite formalities at Shiro’s wedding but now… Lance was truly stumped.

“Uh - it’s okay, man.” He rubbed the aching back of his head, “ _You’re_ not the one who should be apologising. _I’m_ the one who”-

How did he put into words exactly what he did? How did he apologise for something he was never supposed to be caught doing? How did he explain he had no plan for what he’d do once he’d hacked the markings off his face? That somehow, he hadn’t wanted to continue living in this world? That truthfully, he had no idea what he might have done next?

He was saved the trouble of justifying himself because Keith was already cutting him off.

“Don’t apologise, Lance. Please don’t. Stay right here. I’m going to bring you some more food.”

And he _did_. Before ten more minutes of this madness had passed, Keith was back in the room with a fresh, steaming stack of delicious smelling pancakes.

By now, Lance’s stomach was practically shrivelled inward from the alcohol abuse and the hunger, and the first bite was something else. The fluffiness of these things rivalled the fluffiness of the pillows he was sitting on.

“I ‘idn’t ‘ow you could cook, Keith.” Lance commented, his mouth full.

“O-oh.” Keith stammered, “I didn’t make these.”

Lance frowned. “Who did?”

Keith looked away, keeping his mouth firmly shut.

Lance swallowed. “Are we… still on Atlas?”

“For now. Yeah.”

Lance’s mouth felt numb. His eyes were heavy from exhaustion. But he had a thousand questions.

“So… can I leave now?” That came out quieter than he’d meant. Why was the floor tilting?

Keith’s expression was pained. “I’m sorry, Lance. This is for your own good. It wasn’t just my idea.”

Lance glanced from the innocent plate of pancakes to the backs of his hands which looked strange and blurry. His fingers were rippling. They weren’t supposed to do that.

It clicked too late.

“You _drugged_ ... me?!” He flared as his eyes began to close, Keith’s anxious features the last thing he saw. _AGAIN._ “That’s fuck...ing… cold…”

But he was so _warm_. And he couldn’t even remember what they’d just been talking about.

* * *

 

Lance was getting tired of waking up. He was especially getting tired of waking up in an unfamiliar bed. It was like waking up in a new world, except without the pleasure of waking up in someone else’s body, as Lance had often dreamed he might one day do. Nope. He was still him.

And he could hear… _whispers._

Lance fluttered his eyes open, barely making out a colourful cluster of blurry figures standing a little ways away from the bed.

He squeezed them shut again as one of the figures turned.

“He’s gonna kill us.” Pidge’s voice. For sure.

 _Damn right_ , Lance thought.

“I feel awful…” Came Hunk’s groan from somewhere to his left. “I’ve never had to make lying food before.”  
Lance almost gasped. He wanted to shout _traitor, traitor!_ But he bit his tongue, content to feel the steady flush of heat rise from the pit of his stomach instead.

“Lying food?” Came Pidge’s scoff. “More like “space cakes.””

“I would never”-!

“Guys, shush… he’ll wake up.”

_Shiro._

Lance had had enough. He flicked open his eyes to fix them with his best glare as he said,

“A little late for that.”

They startled like rabbits. The reaction was almost worth it. _Almost._

Hunk was the first to react. “E-evening, Lance. How are you?”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “Wonderful,” He spat, “Never been better.”

Sarcasm aside, it was half true. He hadn’t slept this good in years. But he would never give these cretins the satisfaction of knowing that, so he maintained his glower, stiff as a board between the soft cotton sheets. Thank the gods someone this time had had the good grace to put Lance in pyjamas. Soft, baggy white ones. Somehow his dignity still didn’t feel quite restored though, and he suspected that was something to do with the fact the last time he’d seen these people he’d been stumbling from the table, a drunken mess, on the way to cut open his face. Yikes.

Keith hung by the doorway a little ways apart from everyone else, eyes diverted to the floor. Lance’s terse silence was filling the room. It was a bigger room than the first one. And this time there were no pancakes in sight. Shame.

“So is anyone going to explain to me why I’m not home yet? And why I was” - he directed this one at Hunk, “ _drugged_?”

Hunk had the decency not to look away. He gnawed his lip sheepishly.

“I’m sorry, man it’s just - we didn’t know what you would be like when you woke up. It was only supposed to relax you…”

“What I would be _like_?” Lance echoed incredulously.

“You’ve gotta see it from our point of view, Lance.” Shiro offered. Ever the stoic. “One minute you were saying some pretty worrying stuff, the next, Keith is carrying you over his shoulder covered in blood.”

When he put it like that…

Lance propped himself up on his elbows. “I’m fine!” He burst out with a ridiculous laugh. “Honestly! Guys l-look at me.”

“We are.” Said Pidge.

Lance shot her a look.

“The point is, it’s unsafe for you to be on your own.” Shiro finished.

“No, it’s not! You guys are taking this way too far. I was drunk, I was - just - that doesn’t usually happen.”

“How are we supposed to believe that?” Said Pidge, crossing her arms. She was the image of her mother these days. Stern. Fierce-eyed. Scarily intelligent.

“By _listening_ to me?”

Everyone exchanged a look.

“You’re too much of a danger to yourself. We’re just being honest.”

Lance gave another pained laugh and flopped back onto the pillows, digging the heel of his palm into his forehead.

“Oh my _god!_ This is so dumb! This is why I don’t talk to you guys anymore. You take the smallest thing and make it into this - this big _deal_ ! I’m fiiiiiine. Got it? _F-I-N-E_ FINE.”

He wasn’t fine.

And they _all_ saw through his bullshit. It was painfully obvious.

“Listen, listen, listen… I’m… _sorry_ … you had to see that,” He tried again, a little more sincere this time. “I truly am. But it won’t ever happen again.”

Somehow, even as he said the words, Lance didn’t quite believe them. After all, the markings on his face were still there and just knowing that invoked disgust and shame and reproach, all of them unfurling in his chest like snakes. This was exactly why it was better for him to stay away. This was why it was better when other people didn’t get involved… there was a risk he'd start to feel things again.

“Can you promise?” Keith spoke up from the doorway. Lance removed his hand from over his eyes to lock eyes with him. “Can you promise it won’t happen again?”

Lance opened his mouth. Then closed it again. The hesitation in itself was enough.

Everyone else sighed collectively.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” Lance rushed out, the guilt at their collective concern driving him crazy, “It doesn’t mean you have to keep an eye on me or - or keep me prisoner here or anything like that.”

“We won’t,” Shiro replied.

“No, that’s not the plan.” Said Pidge.

Lance narrowed his eyes. “The _plan_?”

They all exchanged cryptic looks again. It was beginning to irritate him.

“You’re going with Keith for a while.” Said Shiro, “We’ve already talked about it and, well, given how things are right now, we think the best option is for him to - for you to get away from from home for a while. To see other things and different people.”

Lance gaped at him in disbelief. “Are - are you joking? You’ve got to be joking.”

Keith’s eyes were glued to the floor and his arms were folded tightly across his chest as he leaned against the far wall. He made no effort to contradict his brother’s statement.

“AND WHO’S MEDDLING ASS CAME UP WITH THAT IDEA?” Lance shouted.

“It was me, actually.” Another voice came from the door. Icy. Cold. Achingly familiar.

“V- _Veronica?!”_

Lance’s sister made her entrance, striding to Lance’s bedside with an expression harder than stone. But her eyes were soft. They gave away the feelings she was trying to hide. The _hurt_. Unfortunately, Lance had spent a lifetime getting to know her quirks so he could read her like a book.

“Veronica…” He whispered, “Why”-?  
“Because it’s killing me, Lance. Every time I see you, you’re… you’re like an empty shell. I didn’t know what to do about it. I thought you’d be fine on your own if we just gave you _time_ , but… you’ve _had_ time. You’ve had ten years and - and you’re still not better.”

Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Her palms were enclosed in small, tight fists by her side and she gazed down at Lance with nothing but love and fury.

“I _knew_ you were unhappy but I didn’t know that you would… that you were planning to…”

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears following the sentence she couldn’t finish. Broken, Lance reached out and took one of her balled fists in his hand.

“V… V, no… I wasn’t - I mean - I wasn’t planning to - to do that. It happened before I could stop myself. Veronica, please don’t cry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

The others went to leave, to give them some privacy, but Veronica turned to stop them.

“No, don’t leave. I need you all to hear this. You were his family once too. And Lance?”

Lance nodded, gulping back the lump in his throat. _Don’t cry…_ he willed himself.

“Listen to them. Please, listen to them too. I know you don’t want this, but there’s no way any of us are letting you walk out of here alone.”

Lance kept his mouth shut. He wanted to tell them he was fine. He wanted to tell them he was a grown-ass adult and he could do whatever the fuck he wanted - that his life was his to end. But the words wouldn’t come out. They would only hurt. And he’d done enough of that.

“Go with Keith. Explore. _Do_ something… it’s either this or…”

“A hospital.” Pidge finished for her.

A grim silence followed.

“I don’t need a hospital.” Lance said quietly. His pulse flickered in his throat like a hummingbird's wings. His palms were clammy and cold atop the bed-sheets. This was his worst nightmare. This was how they really saw him. _Damaged goods. They thought he was crazy._

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Said Shiro with a sympathetic smile that made Lance want to hit him, “That’s the deal, that’s all. Go with Keith or”-

-”I go to the loony bin. Yeah. Got it.” Lance huffed, frowning at the ceiling. He considered this. “No offence, but Keith isn’t exactly the most cheery person around.”

“He has a point.” Keith agreed bluntly.

Lance laughed.

Veronica took his hand, rubbing it soothingly like his mom would when he was a kid. They sat like that for a while. Silent. Lance was so embarrassed and ashamed of the entire situation that he had to just close his eyes and concentrate on the sensation of his sister’s warm, fingers massaging his hand in slow, soothing circles. It helped. But it also made him want to cry again.

“You’re going to get better, Lance. I promise.”

Veronica never broke her promises, but this one wasn’t hers to make.

* * *

 

The next day, Lance was allowed to leave the room. In fact, he was allowed to leave the ship, only… not alone. And he wasn’t going home.

There were no mirrors in the vicinity which was both a comfort and a worry. He had the distinct feeling the decision to keep him away from his reflection was deliberate. After saying goodbye to Hunk, Pidge, Shiro and Veronica, Lance got dressed into the new, simple outfit that had been left out for him. It didn’t look all that different from the pyjamas, except there was a brand new blue jacket too. He didn’t ask what had happened to his old one. He suspected the blood hadn’t come out in the laundry.

Lance’s limbs were dead weights attached to his body as he made his way through Atlas down to the air hangar where all the smaller vessels were stored. It was an unfortunate coincidence that a few of the trainee MFE pilots who had attended the reunion were within the vicinity, and Lance was sure he felt a pair of beady dark eyes belonging to a blond head turn in his direction.

“Lance!”

Keith was waving him over from a sleek, space-grey vessel parked by the landing bay doors.

Lance was, again, struck by the strangeness of the entire affair as he strode over to Keith, hands in his pockets.

“This thing yours?” He commented, nodding at the ship.

Keith nodded. “Yeah. Get in.”

Lance was about to interject he didn’t know _how_ when the passenger doors opened on their own - it had to be voice command. _Very smooth, Kogane._ Even machines did anything he wanted for him.

Lance clambered into the dark ship, admiring the stylish minimalist interior and sophisticated controls. Huh. He hadn’t been in a ship since… well. Since Voltron. Keith slid into the roomy pilot’s seat beside him.

“So, where to?” He asked Lance. It was said with the same weight as _‘where would you like to eat?’_ or _‘which shade of blue suits me better?’_ How did Lance explain that he had no idea how to answer that question? He couldn’t, so instead he found himself saying,

“Surprise me.”

Keith’s eyes lingered on him for a moment, some disguised meaning crowding behind his eyes, before he shrugged and pressed a few buttons. Red neon lights surrounded them as the engine kicked into gear, although no one would be able to tell. The thing was completely silent, even as Keith steered it towards the bay doors - towards open space. Towards - _Lance’s heart did an uncomfortable somersault -_ the complete unknown.


	3. Wanderlust

Waking from a dream was something that hadn’t happened to Lance in a very long time… if you could call it a dream. It was a low undercurrent of a warm hum. It was dark figures gesturing and muttering unintelligible things. But it was a dream still, and he wasn’t used to it. Usually, by the time his eyes shut, it was blackout. Then the day would start all over again. It wasn’t supposed to be so disorientating - all mind fog and confusion as the last whispering wisps of his imagination dissipated with the oncoming wave of reality. He was on a ship.  _ Keith’s  _ ship. And something had interrupted him. 

Lance steered himself into the moment, bones cracking as he heaved himself higher in the chair he’d slumped down into. Soft leather surrounded him and it was still so… dark. Oh yeah. Space was like that. He’d forgotten. 

Lance rubbed his nose and his eyes, wincing when he caught the bandage on his cheekbone. 

“You’re finally awake, huh?” 

Lance turned to his left. Keith wasn’t looking at him. He was tapping away at the glowing red buttons, feet moving expertly up and down on the ship’s pedals as he guided the vessel to a halt. 

“I’d say good morning but it’s kind of difficult to tell what time we’re at.” 

The windshield was pitch black. No stars. No nebula. No clouds, galaxies, planets, no nothing. Lance shivered. 

Keith threw him a sideways smirk. 

“That’s the coolest part of being out here. Time doesn’t exist.” 

Lance frowned, unsure how true that was. Time existed for  _ them _ . It was ageing them, slipping away second by second, wasting… 

“Are you hungry?”

Lance shook his head. He was surprised when Keith didn’t insist he consume another three batches of pancakes. 

He’d figured out what had interrupted his dream. The engine had stopped. The low, droning hum that had been accompanying his ‘dream’ was silent. 

“Why’d we stop?” Lance’s insides churned with anticipation. Had they arrived at where Keith was staying  _ already _ ?    
“Oh,” Said Keith, “I just wanted to show you something.” 

He pressed a few more buttons. Wiggled a couple of levers. The blackness enclosing the glass front of the ship began to recede. Lance couldn’t help but feel relieved at the realisation that the darkness was just a cover. They weren’t  _ actually  _ in a void. In fact, they were surrounded by an explosion of colour and light. 

Lance had to catch himself before grinning. He didn’t want to strain the cut on his face. But he couldn’t stop the thought...  _ how could he have forgotten this?  _

Keith was watching his reaction, not the stars. 

“It’s a new galaxy forming,” He explained, “Mom and I came here to help out some refugees from the war. The radiation was killing their soil so they couldn’t grow any food… we came here to neutralise it. But the whole time I was here I couldn’t stop looking up at the sky.” 

“People live here?” Lance whispered, his starving mind feeding on the sight of a million stars. A silver planet with two moons hung among a cloud of yellow and purple directly ahead of them. 

“Yeah. Hope you don’t mind, but I thought we could make a quick stop. I haven’t seen my mom or Kolivan in a while so…” He trailed off with a shrug. 

Lance was still trying to get used to him. This…  _ calm adult Keith _ . His words were as soft as the angles of his face were sharp. Then Lance remembered him holding him to the floor by his wrist and that same voice snapping at him. 

“Sure.” Said Lance, “I can’t exactly run off anywhere, anyway. I’m screwed without you now.” He hated how pathetic that sounded. 

But Keith only gave a small laugh, gazing back out of the window. 

“Yeah. Guess so.” 

The hum started up again and the sleek ship began its downward descent through the stars to the planet’s largest moon. 

It was a base, Keith explained, where they kept supplies and weapons in case of the (rare) event of an attack. He gave Lance a spacesuit in case they couldn’t dock and let him use another room to change in. Keith’s ship was way bigger than Lance had realised. Outside, it gave the illusion of being a sleek, tapered pod, but inside it was roomy and kind of… cosy. There was even room for a bed and a bathroom which, Lance couldn’t help but notice, there were no mirrors in either. Irritation at his friend’s careful strategizing to keep him away from anything that might trigger a panic attack bubbled under his skin. They really thought he was crazy, huh? He just wondered what had happened to make them think putting a crazy person in a confined space with Keith, his ex-rival, was a good idea. It didn’t feel like a punishment yet. Keith was being way too nice. Perhaps it was because he was  _ fragile _ .

Ridiculous.

The skin tight space-suit only served to emphasise Lance’s stark ribcage - his skinny arms and legs - depleted muscle and evidence of neglect out for all the world (well… moon) to see. He sighed and stepped out of the room. He wasn’t about to get stroppy about body issues. That was a step too far, even for Lance. 

Keith joined him from the cockpit, fully donned in his own space-suit. Curves of lean muscle and his fit, athletic figure were a rather unwanted display of the differences between their lives right now. 

Lance’s mouth went dry. Fuck. He really had let himself go. 

Making an effort to avert his eyes and  _ not  _ grind his teeth in frustration, Lance turned towards the ship’s seamless exit. 

“Any luck docking?” 

“Yeah. We might not have to go outside.” He laughed, “The suits might have been unnecessary.” 

_ No, you just wanted to show off your damn biceps.  _

“You never know.” Lance drawled, tucking his helmet under the crook of his elbow.  

Time to go outside. 

* * *

 

The moon base was made  _ entirely _ out of glass, so the colours of space surrounded them constantly. It made it difficult to walk without tripping up, because Lance was constantly gazing around him at the subtle hues of orange and blue and green against a shimmering backdrop of newborn stars and swirling gas planets.

“Yo,” He said, catching up with Keith who marched through the maze of glass tunnels with strident purpose, “What’s the name of this place?” 

“Right now,” Keith muttered, reading a holographic map projected from a device on his wrist. Snazzy. “We’re in TratoNorth. We aren’t far from the… from home.”

Lance narrowed his eyes. “The what?” 

“What?”

“You were going to say something else before ‘home.’” 

“No, I wasn’t.” 

“Yes you were!” 

“Lance, you’re reading too much into it. It was a slip of the tongue.”

“Don’t bullshit me. You”- 

-“Keith, is that you?” 

_ Dammit _ . They were cut off by a soft call from the other end of the corridor. A very familiar face awaited them - a very familiar face that  _ hadn’t changed a jot in 10 years _ . Lance blinked. He had that odd sensation of being thrown back in time again. 

Krolia was donned in the reformed Blade of Mamoria uniform carrying under her arm which she dropped the moment she saw her son, running towards him and engulfing him in her arms like they’d been separated for centuries or something. 

Keith, a grown adult, grumbled into his mother’s shoulder.

“Mom. Mom. Ge-geroff.  _ Mom _ .” But he was smiling...  _ Weird _ . 

Krolia drew back and took her son’s scarred face in both her hands. 

“Oh, Keith,” She said softly. It reminded Lance of the way his own mother had sounded when they came back to Earth… 

“I’m good, mom.” Said Keith hurriedly, pushing his mother’s hands away from his face. “Um - you remember Lance.” 

Krolia turned to Lance, seeing him properly for the first time. In real Kogane fashion, her face remained unreadable as she greeted him. 

“Oh, yes. Hello, Lance.”

“Hello Mrs… Err… Krolia.” 

Her eyes twitched at the corners. Maybe that was a smile. Lance couldn’t tell. He also didn’t fail to notice how she didn’t look at the Altean mark (*marks. The other one was covered with the bandage, but surely she noticed that) on his face. Her determination not to remind him of what had happened somehow managed to quietly infuriate him more than if she’d openly gazed at it. Ignore it then, he thought, trying to school his expression into something more pleasant. 

“He’s gonna stay with me for a while.” 

Krolia’s eyes flashed as she directed her alert attention back to her son. 

“He is?”

“Yeah.” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Lance didn’t like being talked about as though he wasn’t there. 

“Don’t worry,” He sighed, “I won’t flip out and go all psycho on Keith too. He’d put me on the floor again if I tried, anyway.”

She frowned at him. “What?” 

Keith was shaking his head. “Mom. Mom, it doesn’t matter. Where’s Kolivan?” 

“Oh!” The tension relaxed in her shoulders, “He’s on Trato13J at the moment. They’re building a new Eopia plantation.”

“Ah, so the cure worked, then?” 

“Yes. We’re working on a new batch to take to the next camp. It might not work on every species, but we can try. Do you want me to call him back?” 

Keith shook his head. “We just dropped by. Can I help while I’m here?” 

Krolia hesitated, giving Lance a quick sideways glance. This was... shifty. And  _ annoying _ . 

“Sure.” She said with a tight smile. “We’re pretty busy on floor 2, and I need to move all these boxes of supplies… you can help.”

Lance groaned inwardly. So much for a vacation. 

* * *

 

When Krolia said ‘busy’ he hadn’t expected clusters of families packed into a gigantic, domed hall. Each little bunch was a different species by the looks of it, but they all had kids and small tents and blankets and… Keith did this  _ every day _ ? 

“Park yourself over there,” Keith told him, waving vaguely at one end of the room, “This shouldn’t take too long.”   
“Wha - ! But I wanna help!” Lance protested.

“It’s cool. The two of us can handle it.” Lance was about to butt in when, “And  _ no _ , it has nothing to do with me thinking you’re weak or something. I just wanna talk to my mom.” 

Feeling caught out, Lance stormed off in the direction Keith had waved at before he could see how red his face was getting. Jeez… how did he manage to sound like a brat in every conversation? Keith had guessed  _ exactly  _ what he was thinking. That bothered him. He didn’t want people to know what he was thinking. Least of all  _ mullet. _

As Lance found a tight spot of spare wall between two families to lean against, he allowed himself a small laugh. 

_ Mullet _ .

Keith’s hair was long now. Long enough to tie back into a glossy ponytail. But he’d always be a mullet. 

A tiny tap on Lance’s knee sent him reeling.

“Whoa! Oh, hey… hey there.” 

An equally tiny child gazed up at Lance with watery yellow cat-like eyes. And its face was covered in bright orange fur. He (or she?) could definitely be a cat person. 

“W-wassup, buddy?” Lance got out, unnerved. 

“You’re a human.” 

Squeeky. Squeeky, alien little cat-child. 

“Well spotted.” 

The kid’s large, doleful cat-eyes wandered down to the one Altean mark that shone neon blue against Lance’s brown skin. 

“Whoa…” 

Lance rolled his eyes. He could hardly berate a kid for reacting to his stupid face. And it was a better reaction than:  _ oh, that’s going to stay on you forever?!  _

“Are you a prince?” The kid asked.

“Ha!” Lance barked. He crouched down to the kid’s eye-level. “Sure. Yeah. I’m the prince of the universe.” 

The harmless lie was worth it for the beam that spread across the kid’s feline face. 

“Do you have a throne?”

“Yup.”

“And a crown?”

“Uh huh.”

“So why aren’t you wearing it?”

“Uh… I’m in disguise. I-I’m pretending to be a space pirate.” Lance blinked. He’d known space pirates once…  _ what were their names? _

The kid gasped. “A space pirate prince?!” 

“Shh!” Said Lance as a few heads began to turn. “You can’t tell anyone, okay?” 

The kid nodded so hard it was a wonder they didn’t topple over. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Solypsies!  _ Solypsies! _ ” An exasperated voice sounded from the family to their right. The kid squirmed. 

“Oh no. Bye, your majesty. I hope I can be as cool as you one day.” 

The kid scuttled off under legs and blankets, rejoining the large family and about ten other kids (kittens?). 

The smile lingering on Lance’s face was making the healing wound on his cheek sting. He stopped. 

“I wish I was cool too.” He muttered. And then scoffed at himself. If things had turned out different, maybe he  _ could _ have been prince of the universe. Well… prince of something. Rachael had called him the prince of procrastination once. But Allura had actually wanted a future with him. He pondered the thought for the first time in a while, a familiar hollowness settling in his stomach. So much for that. 

Lance crossed his legs on the floor and scanned the massive space. He tuned in on the hundreds of voices. Some were talking about food. Some were talking about their families. Some were gossiping about their friends and the future. 

Others talked about the conflict. The ongoing disputes. The powers that be. 

He studied the markings on each Aliens’ skin - the incredible shades and shapes of their eyes. 

Here, he stood out for being too  _ normal _ .  _ Too human _ . Wild. 

“Hey. Space Prince.” 

The sardonic call-out snapped Lance to and he stood sharply, facing the adult cat-woman with shrewd, less awe filled eyes than the child shyly hugging her legs.

“I told you not to tell anyone!” Lance hissed at the kid, who retreated further behind the cat-woman’s skirts. 

“You tell the kid you’re a space prince and expect her not to tell anyone?” The cat-woman smirked. “You’re thin. Come and eat some soup.” 

Lance nearly tripped over the helmet he’d dropped in surprise. “Uh - wh - I’m good - thanks - no”-

She raised a brow. “I ain’t got all quintent,  _ your majesty _ .” 

It took Lance so long to remember a  _ quintent _ was a day that he had to quickly scurry through the crowd of people that had parted to let him and the cat-lady through. 

“Sit  _ down  _ Solypsies!” She ordered the kid who was staring at Lance with massive (now creepy) eyes.

Lance gave her an awkward smile. She didn’t stop staring. 

“So, what’ll it be Blue Paladin? Morlip essence or Cargab Root?” She was offering him two bowls. 

“Surprise me.” 

He got the one that looked like viscous lava. Was it supposed to be glowing like that?

Lance was about to take a sip as he sat on the ground amongst watchful, catty eyes when - 

“Wait, what did you call me?” It was said in a hushed whisper. He didn’t want to draw…  _ attention  _ to himself. He wasn’t doing a very good job so far. 

The cat-lady (he wished he could call her something else, but she really did look like a vertical cat) sat opposite him on the floor, pulling Solypsies into her lap and patting down her pointy, fluffy ears. 

“You are the Blue Paladin, right?” She said like it was casual friday-dinner talk.

“Was.” Lance corrected, “A-and yes. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t scream it from the rooftops though.” 

Cat-lady snorted. “Are you kidding? Everyone recognised you the moment you came back with Keith.” 

Solypsies was purring and had thankfully closed her massive torch-like eyes. 

“Oh…” Lance took a sip of the soup. Surprisingly? It was great. Thank the heavens his mom had introduced him to spicy food when he was a kid. This stuff  _ burnt _ . But in a good way. Lance couldn’t really remember the last time he’d eaten food he liked… 

He hunched over the bowl, bowing his head as more people glanced in his direction.

Cat-lady noticed. “They’re just curious.”

“I’d rather they weren’t.”

She frowned. “They want to thank you.”

“For what?” Lance mumbled. Despite the open space, he was beginning to feel enclosed again. The crushing weight on his chest was pulling, pulling - 

“Saving the universe maybe?” 

Something about cat-lady’s tone drew Lance from the brink of his nearly-panic-attack. She made everything sound like it wasn’t a big deal. Probably because it wasn’t. Lance was just pathetic. At least he was self-aware.

“Yeah. Sure.” He replied with a sigh. “Not much has changed though. I mean… you’re all stuck in here.” 

She regarded him distastefully. “Yeah, but we’re all  _ alive _ . Solypsies wouldn’t even exist if it wasn’t for you. You do get that… right?” 

_ But I didn’t do anything! I didn’t make any sacrifices! I just watched as everyone else died around me! And now I’m a lonely pretend-farmer who sometimes doesn’t shower for three days and orders pizza from an exclusively-robot take-away so no one has to see my face! _

“Yeah. I get it.” 

“I think being a paladin of Voltron is way cooler than being a space pirate.” Solypsies piped up. “Or a stupid prince.” 

“Yeah it was cool. Then I grew up.” One look at both their faces and Lance regretted everything. “I-I’m sorry. I’m not used to be around… people. I need to, you know, think before I speak sometimes.” He laughed awkwardly. 

Solypsies tipped her head in an uncannily cat-like way. “But Keith is a grown up. And he’s always smiling.” 

Lance chewed on his tongue to stop himself retorting. Everybody loved Keith. Keith could do no wrong. Saint Keith - 

Cat-lady was shaking her head. “Finish your soup, paladin. It’ll help.” 

For a moment, Lance was tempted to dump the unfinished lava soup on the floor and demand a flight back to Earth. But the soup was good. And cat-lady stopped talking about Voltron right after. 

* * *

 

About fifteen minutes later, Keith came to collect him. He said hello to everyone there and then (thankfully) escorted Lance back to his annoyingly sleek ship. 

Lance couldn’t deny that he’d enjoyed the weird meeting. He hadn’t met new people (aliens and otherwise) in a long long time. Not since he’d got out there and  _ tried _ . Not since he’d performed his dead-behind-the-eyes smile (Veronica’s words) and made himself spread Allura’s message throughout the galaxies. Well. Attempted to. 

But he was onto Keith. They hadn’t just made “a quick stop”. There were ulterior motives here, and it was blindingly obvious what they were. If Keith thought he could take Lance on a spiritual journey through the Cosmos to rediscover his soul, he was going to be sorely disappointed. As much as Lance hated himself for the thought, it was sickeningly blatant how the ‘good-charity-refugee’ act was supposed to make him feel. It was supposed to make him rediscover his need to help people and look past his own trivial human issues. It was supposed to guilt him into thinking  _ beyond himself _ . He wouldn’t be surprised if cat-lady was an actor (an actor who made great soup, by the way) hired to force him to talk about being a paladin again. A trip down memory lane was  _ not  _ what Lance wanted. He wanted a bed. He wanted solitude. He wanted the comfortable confinement of his four-walled cabin in the middle of nowhere where he could scream into his pillow for the foreseeable future and binge-watch cartoons until he fell into a pit of self-hatred so deep that he actually, blissfully, didn’t feel anything at all. 

Besides, his muscles were tired from all that… walking. And his face hurt from talking so much. 

Once they were in the ship, Lance flopped down into the chair and faced away from Keith with a huff. 

They hadn’t really said anything to each other - just walked back in silence. Keith’s silence was serene. Lance’s silence was infuriated. 

Lance tried to shut his eyes as the soft hum of the engine started up again. But  _ dammit _ , he couldn’t stop  _ thinking _ .

_ “They want to thank you.” _

Why the fuck did that annoy him so much? Fuck Keith and fuck cat-lady. The kid was adorable though. Lance didn’t mind her. Even if she did oggle at him like an animal in a zoo. 

Sucking in an irritated breath, Lance turned around in the wide chair.

Keith was watching him.

“What?” He snapped. Oops. Involuntary reaction.

But rather than snapping back, Keith’s brow just creased a little.

“You were muttering.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were. But whatever.” Keith angled himself toward the window and guided them into outer-space. Lance was  _ livid _ . How  _ dare  _ he not argue with him?!

“I wasn’t muttering.” 

Keith’s brow arched slightly. “Yeah. I heard you the first time.”

“You heard me muttering? Because I wasn’t.”

Keith laughed as he said “I  _ knoooow _ .” 

“But you don’t believe me.” 

“It really doesn’t matter.” 

Lance leapt out of the chair. “I knew it! You’re determined to argue with me! Just admit that you were wrong and we can put this behind us.” 

Keith had the audacity to bite back a smile as he fixed his gaze on the stars and beautiful nebulae around them. A voice in Lance’s head cursed him for not marvelling at nature’s incredible architecture of the universe. Lance reminded it that this argument was astronomically more important. 

“No.” Keith countered.

A thrill lurched in Lance’s abdomen. 

“You won’t deny it because you’re a jackass, Keith.”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that. The first time you did it, you stepped in pancakes. So who’s the real jackass?”

Lance’s jaw unhinged. “Excuse”-!

“If you’re bored, go hang out in the gravity free room or something, man. I’m way too tired to have a fake argument.” 

“You have a  _ gravity free roo-  _ besides the point. I just want you to say, out-loud, that you can’t admit when you’re wrong.”

“But I’m not wrong.”

“THERE IT IS! THE PROOF, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” 

Keith rolled his eyes. “I’m glad to see how much you’ve matured after ten years, Lance.” 

Lance was ready to make a whole other argument about the concept of maturity, but he stopped when he looked at Keith’s face.  _ Really  _ looked. The shadows under his eyes were bruise-like and he was pale. But not the porcelain-flawless-Keith kind of pale. He looked... sick. 

“Keith,” Said Lance with a grimace, “You need a nap.”

Keith shook his head. “Nah. I’m used to flying for long periods. Besides, another few var- hours and we’ll be there.”

“You can say varga,” Said Lance, “I remember what it is.”  _ Because I reminded myself after not knowing what a stupid quintent is _ . 

Keith finally glanced his way. “Oh. That’s good. Everyone speaks in Altean lingo there sometimes.” 

Lance didn’t like how the word ‘Altean’ made him flinch. Hopefully Keith hadn’t noticed. 

“You still haven’t told me where  _ ‘there’  _ is.” 

Keith rubbed his nose with a sniff. “It’s a planet called Llarth. It’s where my house is.” 

“So I really am staying at your house.” Said Lance at length. “And it’s not some shack in the desert.”

“Hey,” Keith flared, “I love ‘that shack.’ Without ‘that shack’ we wouldn’t have found the Blue Lion.” 

“Didn’t mean to hit a nerve. Sorry.” 

Keith sagged into the chair, casually flipping a few buttons and spinning to face Lance who was still stood up, scuffing the shiny floor with his boots. He didn’t realise the chairs could spin. Was there nothing fancy about this thing? 

“Nah. I know you didn’t mean it like that. I just haven’t been back in a while. Last time I saw my mom I told her I’d go back and get some of my dad’s stuff but…” He shrugged, “I never got around to it.” 

Lance felt like an asshole. Why was he always such an asshole? 

“Instead you got saddled with me.” 

Keith shook his head. “No way. It wasn’t because of you. I was supposed to go months ago.” 

“Get distracted with your refugee stuff?” Lance was surprised at how not-bitter that sounded. 

The corner of Keith’s mouth twitched. “Uh - yeah.” He span back around so he was facing the window again. 

“Get some sleep if you want. You can use the bedroom. I’ll fly the ship until we get there.” 

Lance couldn’t help but feel this conversation had come to a very abrupt end. He just… wasn’t sure why. He’d never been the best at reading the room, but this time he was truly stumped. Sighing, he travelled to the other end of the ship and flopped on Keith’s cold, well-made bed. He was probably overthinking things. 

* * *

 

When Keith woke Lance up with a gentle nudge and a muttered: “Hey. we’re here,” Lance had to pinch himself awake. He’d been dreaming deeply again. The whispers and shapes were getting louder and clearer. 

Rubbing his eyes, Lance followed Keith into the cockpit. The window was taken up with the landscape of a gigantic, blue planet. Lance had to remind himself it probably only seemed so gigantic because they were close, but it was much bigger than Earth. The large, alien continents were lush green, surrounded by azure oceans and spinning white clouds. Its orbit was free from the graveyard of satellites that encapsulated Earth, and a Dyson sphere formed mirrored rings and loops around the nearest star, drawing an infinite source of renewable energy to power the civilisation below. For the second time, Lance’s jaw unhinged. 

Keith boosted the ship into its steady descent to Llarth, “Welcome to my place.”

* * *

 

**A/N:** Thank you for keeping up with this fic! I'm honestly enjoying it a lot. In case you didn't know, I take fic commissions. You can find the TOS **[here on my tumblr](https://spaladin.tumblr.com/ficcommissions) **if you're interested! Or you can follow me **[@spaladin](https://spaladin.tumblr.com/)**


	4. Llarth

If Pidge was here, she’d be groaning: _“Too much grass… too many flowers… my hay-fever...”_

If Hunk was here he’d be skipping. And laughing. And probably hugging one of these fluffy, perfectly white sheep that resembled clouds a little _too_ well.

If Shiro was here, he’d lie back in the meadow and sleep under the sun (actually, there were two suns. One was much bigger than the other and there was a subtle indigo glint to its beams, casting iridescent shadows across Keith’s place).

A river flowed by Keith’s slanted, elegant house with its glass roof and open spaces. It was packed with lush, bright reeds. Lance was yet to see any fish. He’d only been here for five minutes though, so there was plenty of time for that.

When they’d landed amongst the grass and flowers, Keith had made straight for the door without taking a moment to admire the natural splendour laid out before them like a gift. Though, Lance supposed, he was probably used to it now. Lucky bastard. Not wanting to seem too dazed by his surroundings, Lance followed close behind, stepping into the cool, bright house.

To say it was worlds away from Keith's old run-down shack in the desert was an understatement. This was more of an architectural marvel; small enough not to be overwhelming but big enough to invite the eyes to wander and feel welcomed by the warm wooden walls and abundance of long sofas and small flight of stairs leading to loft-like bedrooms.

“What the fu…” Lance breathed before he could help himself.

Keith gave a small laugh, striding to the kitchen in the open-plan space and throwing his hologram-watch thing on the counter.

“Nice, right?”

Lance’s eyebrows were at risk of disappearing into his hairline. He rearranged his features into something more neutral. 

“It’s literally just left over materials from when we improved Atlas." Keith explained. "We didn’t want anything to go to waste so we built a whole bunch of houses on this planet with the scraps.”

 _Scraps_. Lance had to hold back a scoff.

“Cool.” He said, throwing himself down on one of the sofas facing a discreet fireplace. Usually he’d put his feet up. Here? He didn’t. The leather was cool and soft, enveloping him. Lance leapt to his feet again, fidgeting with his hands. The space was pretty bare.

“How long have you…” he coughed, “How long have you lived here?”

“Not that long.” Keith replied, opening cupboards and releasing pans and packets of food from the dark to be placed on top of the shiny surfaces. “There’s plenty of food, so help yourself whenever you want.”

Lance frowned. “Are you going somewhere?”

Keith finally looked his way. His expression was weird - the dark circles under his eyes hollowed out his pale face, giving him a quality of unnerving vagueness. it was freaking Lance out.

“Oh, just for tonight. I have to run some errands. I won’t be long.”

Lance felt his insides burst with panic. “Dude, this - this isn’t cool. I don’t know where I am. This is literally an unknown planet halfway across the universe.”

“It’s Llarth in the Tratonorth Quadrant. See? Now you know.”

Keith was breathless as he packed himself a small bag, slung it over his shoulder and marched to the door, completely ignoring Lance's restless stutterings of protest.

“Keith!” Lance shouted, stood helplessly in the open bright space. “Can’t I… come with you?”

Keith finally looked at him. He opened his mouth. Closed it. “No. Sorry… Oh, I almost forgot!” He ran back to the counter and tossed Lance his holographic watch. Lance caught it with a stumble. “You can call your sister on here if you want. It has her number. Or Pidge or Hunk or Shiro. Up to you. I’ll see you in the morning. Wait no. Llarth has two mornings. I’ll see you in the first one.”

And he was out the door before Lance could stop him, tearing across the meadow to his stupid, sporty ship.

“Fucking jerk…” Lance muttered after him as he watched the ship silently take off, barely stirring the lilac alien flowers and tall grasses. Even the round sheep barely looked up from their grazing.

Lance held the cold piece of black metal in his hand, wondering whether to call Shiro and say that Keith had abandoned him. Instead he resigned to throw it on the couch and stomp to the open glass wall. The house was surrounded by green and blue and every shade in between. Fat, shiny insects hovered over the land, collecting pollen. Lance considered running away from the house to spite Keith, but that would be a waste of everyone’s time and he really didn’t want to go to a hospital. This was the deal, wasn’t it? Stay here and they wouldn’t put him away for being a fucking lunatic? So he was just supposed to accept whatever happened now? Or maybe he’d been tricked and this _was_ a hospital. Albeit an empty, stylish one where wards were houses and meadows instead of metal bed-frames and disinfected corridors. Lance scoffed, turning away from the window to throw himself back onto one of the pristine couches. This time he _did_ put his feet up. Shoes and all. He was completely at the mercy of that mullet-head! He had to think of a better name for him now. But there wasn’t any distinct name for Keith’s new hairstyle except “long and luscious” which didn’t quite have the same ring to it as “mullet.”

 

* * *

 

An hour passed before Lance decided to take a tour of the house. It didn’t take long. The downstairs was all open-plan, so there wasn't much to look at. Upstairs was a bedroom, conveniently split into two. There was a partition separating the two beds, and a bathroom at the back. Lance took his shoes off and threw them down the stairs as entered the sleek, boxy bathroom to find - a mirror.

It was too tempting. He had to look. He had to evaluate the damage. His reflection was as stark as he remembered, his bright blue eyes peeking startled through messy brown hair. The mark that showed was a bright and perfect chevron on his cheekbone. The bandage covering the other was frayed and greying. Lance took a deep breath.

“I can handle this.” He told himself, pulling at the tape holding the bandage in place. He watched his reflection intently as he peeled back the dressing, and -

“YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” He shouted, because there was no one else here and it didn’t matter.

The Altean mark he’d nearly hacked off his face was not only still there, but it was fully intact, shining as though it hadn’t been touched at all. A tiny, neat incision raised his natural brown skin in a thin red line, but it was healing, and the mark was undamaged.

“How is this possible?” Lance whispered, looking at the mark from every angle. He remembered the blood pouring down his neck, soaking his collar. It should have been worse than this.

Lance could admit it now. If his plan had worked and he’d succeeded in cutting out the mark, he would have done the other side too, no matter how badly it scarred him. But now... well... there was no point, was there? It would only heal back again. He couldn’t get rid of them.

He dropped the used bandage on the floor and stared at his reflection, dead-eyed. It was the same. Nothing had changed. Nothing _would_ change. He was stuck like this. Forever.

_“BEEP BEEP BEEP.”_

Lance leapt out of his skin as his ears were assaulted by a high-pitched noise getting closer. He spun around to see a small robot occupying the doorway, LED blue eyes blinking on its screen-face.

“What the hell are you?” Lance panted, clutching his chest. He hated being sneaked up on.

“I AM YOUR CAT.” Said the Robot.

Lance blinked.

“Dude I hate to break it to you but you’re not a cat.” It did have ears though. White plastic ones atop its cylinder body.

The Robot wheeled further into the bathroom. Lance hopped onto the sink, legs dangling over the side as the Robot invited itself into his personal space.

“I AM YOUR CAT.” The Robot repeated. Lance snorted. What an unfortunate malfunction. “TIME TO CLEAN.” From its middle, two arms were procured; one a dustpan, one a brush. In one sweep, it scooped Lance’s discarded dressing from the floor and sucked it into its body.

“Ew.” Said Lance.

“ALL CLEAN. BYE BYE.”

“If you're a cat then can you meow?” Asked Lance.

The Robot pivoted on its way out. “MEOW.”

“That was disturbing. Didn’t like that.”

The Robot left the bathroom to wherever it had been hiding before and Lance slowly lowered himself off the sink, sighing. At least he wouldn’t get bored. He had a robot that thought it was a cat to entertain him.

After a much needed shower (there was even a chair in the shower? Like, what? What _was_ this place?), Lance rooted around in the drawers for something to wear. Everything was _white_ . It was incredibly off-putting. But his own clothes were dirty after traveling, so these would have to do. Now he really _did_ feel like a hospital patient. They were comfy though. By the time he made it down the sleek wooden stairs, it was getting dark. Or, more accurately, the _sky_ was getting dark - the ground was… alive.

Lance gaped at the massive window as fireflies swarmed amongst the meadow - they were bigger than Earth’s fireflies - and purple. It was incredible. The fire inside had come on automatically too, casting a soft orange glow, and something smelled like cinnamon and toffee.

It was like a strange, lonely dream. He should have been happy. He’d never been allowed luxury like this. It was just a shame he was here alone.

Not that he wanted _Keith_ here, he thought with a huff as he strode to the kitchen and rummaged through the food jerk-mullet had left out for him. His thoughts were unsettling him. He usually wanted to be alone. In fact, he actively sought out solitude.

That’s why he’d stopped traveling. That’s why he'd left the farm.

To be alone.

So why was he so sad?

Lance shoved a pack of dry noodles in water to boil. Food. Yes. Food would distract him.

And yes, the noodles _were_ delicious. But no, they did not shift the uneasy lump sitting in his gut. Lance sighed and snatched Keith’s fancy watch from the couch. There were no buttons. He tapped the shiny black screen once - twice -

“Ugh, I just wanna call Veronica!”

_“Calling Veronica.”_

“Oh, that was easy.”

Lance fastened the watch around his wrist. It was too late to hang up when he had a moment of irrational panic. He hadn't quite mentally prepared to talk to his sister face to face yet after the last time they'd seen each other. Fuck.  _Agh. -_  

“Lance?” A miniature projection of Veronica popped into being as she answered his call.

“Yoooooo, s’up V?” He managed. Ouch. Forced much? 

She frowned. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I...yeah.” Said Lance, struck by the odd familiarity of his sister’s voice. It hadn’t been that long since he’d seen her, it was just… “I miss you.”

Veronica laughed, but it was a worried one and her expression glazed with concern.

“I err… miss you too. Are you sure you’re alright?”

Lance shook his head. He wasn’t doing a good job of convincing anyone he was sane so far.

“No, I mean - I miss hanging out with you. I miss how it used to be. I’m sorry I went off on my own.”

Veronica gaped at him, her eyes a feminine reflection of his own.

“Oh… Lance, it’s okay. We understood why after”-

-”I know, I know. Just let me apologize. I never did.”

She smiled fondly at him. “Okay bro. Apology accepted.”

Lance was biting his lip hard. Jeez, he hadn’t anticipated being on the brink of tears. He must have been way more worn out than he’d realized.

“How’s Acxa?” He made himself ask before he made a mockery of himself by crying. Veronica beamed. “She’s great! I took her to see the Grand Canyon last week. I don’t think she was very impressed now that I think about it… but she definitely loves travelling. We’re going to visit abuelita in a few weeks, once her shift is up.” It took four years for Lance to realize his sister and Lotor’s former top general were a thing. To say he was shocked was an understatement. To say he didn’t like it… well… it had taken a while to get used to. Acxa had approached him the moment they’d met again and taken his hand, apologising with the grace of a monk. He’d been so taken aback by her straightforward sincerity that there was no way he could really hold a grudge anymore. These days, Lance figured there were more important things to get hung up on. As long as his sister was happy which, judging by her dreamy expression, she was. She was still talking. Lance hadn’t been listening. He straightened up guiltily and nodded along as she said something about Acxa applying for a position in the senate. Veronica trailed off, her gaze wandering away from Lance.

“Cute house.” She said with an edge of envy. 

He smirked. This place was legions from the bleak utilitarian house he’d bought on Earth, tucked away in the middle of nowhere. 

“Yeah. Want a tour?”

Wrist held high, Lance showed Veronica the whole house. It didn’t take long. The house was pretty small. But she was just impressed as he was. 

“Don’t show mom,” Said Veronica after he’d sat back down, “she’ll die of jealousy.”

“Her house is nice! It’s got plenty of room! I didn’t give her all that money for nothing.” 

“Yeah, but you know what she’s like about interior design. She’s obsessive and she gets bored so easily. She’ll be redecorating again if you show her this one.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah. I forgot… hey, does she know… I mean… does she”-?

-”I didn’t tell her what happened.” Said Veronica, dropping her gaze. “I told her you’re on vacation after the reunion. She’s… she’s really happy about it.”

“Oh…” Guilt tumbled the knot in his abdomen, tightening the unease already building. “You didn’t have to lie for me.”

“I didn’t lie. I just bent the truth a little. It wouldn’t do her any good to know the full story.”

“You’re right.” Lance agreed. The idea of making his mom cry made Lance curl his knees up to his chest and stare determinedly into the fire.  _ Stop thinking about it. You’re a grown man. It’s okay.  _

“Your face looks fine, by the way.” Veronica told him, the pause in her voice showing how hesitant she was to bring it up.

Lance traced the raised cut with his finger. “Yeah,” He replied grimly, “There probably won’t even be a scar.” 

“That’s... good?”

_ Good for you. You don’t have to live with this _ .

“I guess.” 

“So… where’s the man himself?” 

Lance raised a brow. “Keith? He took off as soon as we got here. Said he had some errands to run. It was so rude! I didn’t even know where anything was. It’s just this fucking meadow, a bunch of sheep and a Robot with mental problems. It thinks its a cat!”

Veronica giggled. “Sounds fun.” 

“Did you hear me? Keith _left me_ , Veronica. I don’t think your plan will work.”

Veronica’s face went blank. “He’ll be back, Lance. It’s not a big deal.”

Lance found himself glaring at her. “Not a big deal?” He repeated incredulously, “You were the ones going on about how I can’t be left alone!”

“And you were the one going on about how okay you were! Are you saying you _need_ a babysitter? Because that can easily be arranged!”

That shut Lance up. Veronica’s cheeks were red with frustration. She sighed.

“I’m sorry. But I’m sure this won’t happen often. Keith’s a busy guy, you know?”

Lance deflated like a balloon. He huffed. “Yeah. I’m sure. Action man needs to get to his duties.”

“Lance!” Veronica scolded. “He has a whole life. It was really nice of him to offer to take you out of there… the rest of us were pretty agreed on bringing in professionals to help you out.”

Lance’s mouth dropped open. “ _Keith volunteered_?”

She averted her eyes and chewed her lip. “Well… yeah… kinda… I wasn’t meant to tell you. He was taking some time off, he said, so it wouldn’t be an issue. And you guys were close once, right?”

Lance snorted. “Sure, for all of five minutes before my life fell to pieces.” He was slipping into denial again. He could feel it. It was easier to believe he’d been forced on Keith so he could ride out this bizarre holiday and get back home ASAP. Anything different left his path open and uncertain, and the prospect of that alone made his heart pummel against his ribcage.

Veronica pursed her lips at his tone. “Just accept for once in your life that _maybe_ there are people out there who care about you. Is that so difficult?”

_Yes. Yes it is._

Lance rolled his eyes. “You’re missing the point, Veronica. I wasn’t trying to turn this into some fiasco, I was just irritated he flew off as soon as we arrived, okay? Quit going on at me, I’m tired.”

She exhaled again. It sounded as tired as Lance had claimed to be.

“Alright, Lance.” She conceded, unconvinced. “Just - don’t be hard on him.”

Lance frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean? I wouldn”-

-”Get over your pride for a second and promise me, okay?”

Something about the thinly veiled worry in her eyes made him say, “Yes. Fine. I won’t be hard on him.”

She offered him a small smile. “Okay. Good. That’s all I wanted. I’d better be getting off… it’s late here and I have work first thing. Call again soon, okay?”

Lance nodded. “Okay. Night, V.”

“Night, Lance. I love you.”

The hologram vacuum itself back inside the screen, switching to blank.

Lance sank into the luxurious leather, waiting for the couch to swallow him whole. When it didn’t, he fixated on the trillions of stars above him, each tiny point shining through the skylight. He couldn’t avoid the outside here, even if he wanted. Everything was made out of glass.

Hating the fact, Lance rotated horizontally until his face was smashed into the cushion and everything was black.

He groaned. Loudly. If he was being perfectly honest, he wanted nothing more than to call Veronica right back and demand what Keith had said: everything. Word for word. But he wasn’t that desperate.

It was _Keith_ found him in the bathroom. _Keith_ was the first person he spoke to when he woke up. _Keith_ volunteered to take care of him. _Keith_ was letting him stay at his house because…

Well, that was the part Lance couldn’t figure out. It just didn’t make any sense. If Keith was seeking morality points, he was going about it the wrong way. Perhaps he hadn’t quite grasped just how truly jaded Lance had become after all these years. He was beyond charity. If anything, the idea that Keith was only doing this because he felt sorry for him made him furious. That was truly the pinnacle of conceit. Who did Keith think he was? Did he consider himself so far above Lance now that he saw him as another case to take on and nurse back to health?

“Fucking ridiculous.” Lance muttered into the leather.

He wanted more noodles.

But when he sat upright (and rubbed the stars out of his eyes after having them smushed against the couch) he found the counter occupied by the insane robot.

“CAT!” He cried, pointing at it. How on _earth_ did it get up there? It was beeping, sweeping up the remainders of Lance’s mess from when he’d cooked the first time.

“TIDY TIME.” It said in its cliche robot voice. Whoever designed this thing sure had a sense of humour.

“Can you cook too?” Lance asked. “Can you make me noodles?”

The Cat Robot swivelled to face him. “NO.” It replied bluntly, before turning back to resume cleaning.

Too bad there wasn’t a cooking robot. Or maybe there was and Lance just hadn't found it yet. He had all night to find out. 

 

* * *

 

At the dazzling light of first morning (it truly was dazzling. Lance had to shield his eyes from the incredible iridescence of the sun’s first beams as they poured through the window, illuminating the living room) Keith returned. Just like he said he would.

_Clatter, beep, shwop!_

“Err… Lance?”

The floor was littered in what looked like pea-pods. The next moment, the Robot came scooting across the once-shiny floor, scooping up shells in hyper-fast motions.

A delighted giggle burst from Lance, who was slumped in the dishevelled couch, hands full of green shells he’d been tossing on the floor all night.

He leapt upright when the door slammed shut.

“About time you got back!” He exclaimed, as though this was an event they’d planned. “Keith, your crazy robot is hilarious. Watch this. CAT, GO BACK TO THE CUPBOARD!”

The Robot gave a couple of compliant beeps before racing back to its cupboard under the sink.

With great pleasure, Lance popped Edamame beans into his mouth, emptying the pods, before tossing a handful of them on the floor to join the rest of the discarded bean-shell populus.

“Cat!” Lance shouted, “Mess!”

The Robot swivelled from its home to suck up the mess at Lance’s command. He looked at Keith, a delirious grin on his face.

Keith stared at him, mouth slightly ajar. “Have you been doing this all night?”

“...Yeah.”

“Why didn’t we just send you to a mental asylum?” Said Keith. The blunt joke threw Lance off for a moment. But he was surprised to discover he wasn’t upset by it. Not one bit. Huh.

He snorted. “Yeah, you’re right. I think you should be more worried about your robot though. It thinks it’s a cat.”

"I-it... thinks it's a..."

-"A cat! Crazy, right? Your robot needs help, Keith." 

Now it was Keith’s turn to laugh. _Hard_. He dropped his bag and clutched his stomach, doubling over.

“Oh my god, you’re actually stupid,” Keith panted.

Lance leapt off the sofa, dropping the rest of his uneaten Edamame beans. The Robot cleaned those up too.

“No I’m not! Why are you laughing at me?”

Keith laughed at him, real tears of amusement in his eyes. “It doesn’t _literally mean a cat._ It’s a Clean And Tidy robot, dumbass! C.A.T.”

 _Oh_ . Lance nudged the Robot with his foot. “Well, it didn’t tell me that! It just said _"_ _beep-boop - I’m your cat,"_  what was I supposed to think?!”

But Lance couldn't stay offended for long, and Keith's laughter was infectious. The absurdity of the situation hit him like a punch to the gut. Maybe it was the lack of sleep and the fact he’d been shouting at an inanimate object all night berating it for thinking it was a cat, but soon he was in fits, his abdomen aching with the intensity of his laughter. Lance couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this much. It was probably a long time ago. His face was hurting from all the grinning.

Keith seemed used to it; there were laugh lines by his mouth - tiny, fine ones that were only visible if you were looking for them, but they were there. The laughter had given him a glow, too, Lance noticed. He wasn’t as pale as he had been the day before, and the circles under his eyes had gone. He considered how strange this was for a moment, given the errands he’d done were at night and surely he should be _more_ tired - but then he forgot about it because Keith was offering him breakfast. And then Lance was telling him about his call with Veronica (emitting certain details about the reasoning behind Keith’s voluntary decision to take him to Llarth). And then the first morning faded, the sky went dark again, and they decided to watch the fireflies from the window until second morning arrived.

Lance didn’t quite have time to think.  

* * *

 

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	5. Roots

It was time to go outside.

Lance knew it was time to go outside because Keith had finally cornered him. The past two days had been spent pretty uneventfully. And completely indoors.

_“Hey Lance, do you wanna take a walk?”_

_“No, I’m good.”_

_“There’s an eclipse tonight. Want to see it?”_

_“I can see it from the window.”_

_“Lance. How about going outside?”_

_“I’m tired, I think I’m gonna go to sleep.”_

Now he’d run out of excuses and he had nowhere to run to. They basically shared a room. Keith didn’t sleep much though, and he always went up to bed before Lance did. He could hear him breathing as he slept. It kept him awake. But it didn’t really matter much - Lance did virtually nothing to exhaust himself, so it was difficult for him to sleep at night. Keith had his palms flat on the counter-top and he was glaring at Lance in a way that spelled confrontation. Lance didn’t like confrontation.

“What?” He snapped.

Keith regarded him. “You’re gonna get sick if you stay in here.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. I spend all day inside on Earth basically.”

Keith raised a brow as if to say _and look where that got you_. Lance seethed.

“Stop acting like my mom, Keith! I don’t know why you care so much. I’m okay in here. You go off and work or whatever it is you do, you don’t have to look after me.”

“Honestly, Lance, I don’t care _what_ you do with your time. It’s _you_ that’s irritating me. The longer you spend in here the worse your mood gets.”

Lance blinked. “My _mood_?”

“Yes, Lance. Your _mood_. You’re like a - a sulky teenage boy. The air is good for you. It’ll clear your head.”

 _“Pfft.”_ Lance sunk into the couch, turning his back on Keith who looked scarily like an adult right now. He was an adult. Very much so. But that wasn't’ the point. He was treating Lance like a _kid_.

“My head is very clear thank you very much. Yo, ‘sup cat.” The robot was hoovering around Lance’s ankles where he’d dropped crumbs from his toast.

“You’re obsessed with that robot.” Keith muttered.

“He’s a cat, Keith. Don’t dehumanise him… deanimalise him… whatever. Don’t talk down to him.”

Keith looked like he was about to lose it. It brought Lance a substantial amount of satisfaction. He didn’t remember arguing being this fun in the past.

“You’re avoiding the mirror too.”

The smug smile Lance had retained slid off his face like mud. _Fuck_.

“What?”

“Everytime I go in the bathroom after you’ve used it there’s a towel over the mirror.”

“Some nice observation skills you got there, Keith.” Lance tossed another crumb to the floor, “No wonder you made such a good pilot.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Keith said tiredly, “I just… do you wanna talk?”

“No.” Said Lance. Resolute. He wriggled with self-loathing as Keith left the room with a resigned sigh.

Keith was literally giving him _every_ opportunity to open up - something no one had done for him in years - yet here he was, snapping back like… well… a sulky teenage boy.

An unwelcome flashback popped into Lance’s mind - and it was an incident he’d completely forgotten up until now.

Back when Keith wasn’t in Voltron and they’d switched lions, they’d tried to rescue a tribe of indigenous Olkari from a small, obscure planet that was about to collide with its own moon. The tribe, however, refused their help, insisting their own planet would protect them.

 _“They have to want to be helped,”_ Allura had said sadly as they left the planet to its own fate. _“We can’t force them to change their ways.”_

Lance felt like that tribe, stuck on his own lonely little planet, refusing to budge. Except he didn’t have the comfort of others or faith that he could protect himself.

But he had to _want_ to be helped. And he did. Just… not like this.

Not when it was filled with pity.

He hated pity.

But he also missed the flowers and the feel of the breeze against his skin.  

“Keith, wait!” Lance fell off the couch in his haste, accidentally booting the Robot across the room. “Agh, sorry cat,” He said, righting it as it let out high-pitched protesting beeps.

Keith padded down the stairs, obviously trying not to look too expectant. Lance ignored the flush of heat he experienced at seeing Keith with his hair loose. What a strange thing to get angry about, he thought.

“Are you going out now?” Lance tried to ask innocently. But he was panting, and watching Keith with so much hesitancy that it was impossible to disguise.

“I was about to.” Keith smiled as though their argument had taken place in another reality, “Why?”

Lance shrugged. “Thought I might tag along this time.”

Even Keith couldn’t hide the sparkle of triumph that lit up his eyes. Lance decided he could have it - just this once.

* * *

 

There was a path amongst the grasses leading away from the house towards a hazy construction in the distance. The buildings were like soap bubbles - round and iridescent clusters blown over the country. The river accompanied their path, gleaming with shiny grey rocks, its sound an unobtrusive trickle. It was almost _too_ perfect.

“Is it always so warm?” Lance grumbled, fanning himself. He needed _something_ to complain about.

Keith walked alongside him, unhurried, his hands tucked in his pockets.

“Yeah, except for the rainy season. But that only lasts four quintents so… yeah. It’s always warm.”

Lane let out a low whistle. “I wouldn’t have thought this was your scene, Keith.”

“Me neither.”

Something about his tone made Lance look at him. Keith’s dark eyes were far away - until he blinked. “But I like it.” He said hurriedly. “It’s a nice place to come to after working.”

“Earth is too far to go back to, I guess.”

“Yeah. It is.”

_That’s why I never saw you there again? That’s why you never came back?_

“Isn’t it lonely?” Asked Lance before he could stop himself. He ran his hands through a crop of bright green grass-heads that reminded him of barley.

When he didn’t hear a reply, he turned to find Keith frozen, staring at him like he’d said something unbelievable.

“K-Keith?”

A sharp frown deepened against his angular features - Lance hadn’t seen that expression in years.

A gust of wind snatched the barley heads from Lance’s reach, and Keith snapped back to reality.

“Potatoes.” He said.

“P- _what_?”

Keith’s expression relaxed. “We don’t have any potatoes. Remind me to get some?”

Lance was at a loss for words as Keith continued to stroll along as though he hadn’t just glitched out. He was so nonchalant, that Lance found he couldn’t even bring it up. He just carried on, a step behind Keith, wondering what the fuck had just happened.

It didn’t take long for Keith to return to his serene, smiley self. He strode by Lance’s side with a little more purpose, eyes raking over the land laid out before them as though he’d never seen it before. Lance followed suit, picking out the incredible cobalt hue of the flowers, observing the way the planet’s strange little sheep grazed the long grasses with black tongues. How could a human ever get used to this?

Lance tried to imagine living here - just him and - maybe a pet of some kind. He’d never been much of a cat person (despite his new and unexpected attachment to the C.A.T robot). Maybe he’d have a dog.

“Wait…” He breathed, turning to Keith, alarm in his eyes “Shit, Keith. I forgot to ask - where’s Cosmo?”

Keith blinked, his mouth open in a small ‘o’. “Lance, you missed his funeral.”

There was a beat of horror.

Keith broke into a grin. “I’m kidding! He’s fine. He’s with Kolivan. A teleporting space wolf can be really useful for transporting supplies, you know?”

Lance felt himself deflate. “Christ, Keith. Don’t _do_ that. I felt terrible.” Despite himself, he laughed. Keith’s eyes gleamed. Had they always done that? He cleared his throat. “Sooooo Kolivan and your mom…”

Keith kicked the fluffy soil with a light chuckle. “Yeah. They’re together. Officially. Not really a surprise though, right?”

Lance snorted. “After my sister and Acxa, I don’t think I have the ability to be surprised by anything.”

Keith quirked a brow. “Really? You didn’t see it coming?”

Lance’s laugh burst out of him as a bark. “No! Of course not. I mean… Acxa was literally our enemy.”

Keith was watching him oddly. “Yeah, like, ten years ago.”

“When they got together it was less than that.”

“They spent a lot of time together.”

Lance frowned, that odd frustration stirring in his abdomen again. “Just because you spend a lot of time with someone, it doesn’t mean you have to love them.”

 _That’s not true,_ the voice in Lance’s head (un)helpfully provided. In the past, he loved everyone he’d spent all of his time with. There was his family, then Hunk - his (former) best friend of all time, all of team Voltron… except maybe Keith. He couldn’t say he’d ever experienced an overwhelming surge of affection for his former rival. But Keith had left for so much time, he didn’t get a chance to spend a lot of time with him. Not compared to everyone else. If anything, Keith had intimidated and confused him - he’d never admit that to him now though.

Maybe Keith was thinking the exact same thing, because he didn’t reply.

“Well… not that I’d know.” Lance said into the silence that followed.

His steps became three times heavier and the silence was pressing. A narrow path had materialised beneath their feet and they were walking along it towards the bubble-like structures, though Lance had no idea what they were. He had half a mind to turn back without a word and hole himself up in his section of the bedroom (he called it _the_ bedroom because there was only a partition separating them). This was so fucking awkward. And it was all _his fault_. Way to go, Lance. Way to ruin a perfectly good conversa-

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to visit you.”

So it wasn’t over.

Well, fuck. Did Keith think he was cut up over that? He had been at first - in the early days. But only because he was jealous and bitter that he'd been left behind. 

“Oh…” Lance found himself saying, “Uh… same. I mean”- he gave an awkward laugh that only achieved in making him sound even more hysterical - “s’not exactly like I was busy. I could’ve seen you anytime. If I knew where you were...”

Why _would_ he visit Keith though? They were probably the least close out of any of them… except maybe Pidge. They only ever met up to play video games. Or Shiro, who was perpetually irritated at having to babysit Lance... Actually, Lance hadn’t been super close with anyone. Not until Allura. As he had the thought, his hands grew clammy. He had always been a burden to them… even now. _Wow_. It had taken him this long to realize why he ended up alone.

His mouth was dry. He should have had some water before they left.

Keith carried on, unaware. “I think we can both admit we’ve been running from the past. In our own way, both us of avoided what happened.”

Lance stared at him. “You - your job is literally like - like Voltron 2.0! You _help_ people, Keith and it’s all because of the past! _I’m_ the one who avoided you guys.”

They’d stopped on the path now, and the short space between them sung with a plethora of unsaid things. _Years_ of unsaid things. Only now, Lance wasn’t sure he wanted to say them. Keith hesitated, and Lance wondered if the past they’d been running from was the same one. For Lance, it was Allura. For Keith… he had no idea.

Lance thought Keith had everything. He’d been offered _more_ in fact, but he’d turned it down.

_Emperor of the Galran empire._

The man Lance was looking at didn’t look like an emperor. He looked confused and even a little shy for someone who only the other day had twisted him onto his knees with brute force.

Lance found himself smirking at the memory. “We’ve definitely swapped.”

Keith opened and closed his mouth, evidently confused at Lance’s sudden change in tone.

“What?”

“Now _I’m_ the emo.”

The relief was palpable. Keith visibly relaxed, starting up along the path with a gentle laugh.

“A little.” He agreed.

“Look at me,” Lance continued, a lightness spreading in his chest as he considered the ridiculousness of his situation, “I live alone in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing nice to look at. Nothing ever grows there. I’m you, but you when you first met me.”

Keith shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”

“At least I don’t have a mullet.”

Keith rolled his eyes, shooting Lance a sideways smile that threw him off. Lance tried not to stare and busied his eyes with the tinkling river.

“If you don’t get a haircut soon, it _will_ be.” Keith warned.

“Legend has it, the mullet is cursed to always latch onto one paladin.” Said Lance before feeling his stomach drop to his knees. _He wasn’t a paladin anymore… why did he say that…?_ He waited for the awkwardness to return.

Keith laughed, as though this was a perfectly normal thing to say. “Not the paladins of old.”

Spurred on by the way Keith humored him, Lance sped up until they were marching again.

“Err - Alfor?” He remarked. “That dude definitely had a mullet.”

“He did?” Asked Keith, reproach entering his voice.

Of course… this was Allura territory.

Lance sighed. “You can talk about it, you know.”

He was glad Keith didn’t say: _talk about what?_

Instead he slowed again, coming to a stop by the river, his hands tucked away in his pockets. This time, Lance stood next to him and they watched the water carry a school of tiny silver fish downstream.

“I’ll admit it,” Said Keith finally, “I didn’t know what to say back then. I didn’t know how to feel either. I was distraught, of course, but I couldn’t stop thinking about…”

Lance tore his gaze from the water and waited for Keith to finish his sentence. He didn’t.

“About…?”

“About _you_.” As he said it, he met Lance’s eyes. The look was so intense that Lance felt heat prickle his cheeks, right where the marks where.

“Err…”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about how hard it was for you.” Keith elaborated. “Out of all of us, you knew her most.”

 _Oh_.

Lance turned back to the water. “I don’t think I did.” He said quietly.

The world held its breath.

“Yeah, I loved her, but I didn’t _know_ her and… she definitely didn’t know me. Not truly.”

Where was this coming from, Lance wondered? The words came from somewhere deep in his chest. He’d put them there a long time ago out of guilt and shame.

“I always felt bad about it,” He continued, his words taking on their own agency. Now he’d started he couldn’t stop, “When it finally happened it was like it wasn’t real, you know? I didn’t have long enough to sort my head out about it, and I don’t think she did either. These days I wonder if she only decided to be with me because she knew she was going to…” He swallowed thickly, “I made a huge song and dance for years about how she didn’t like me back, and then when she did I - I still managed to fuck it up.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Lance.” Keith told him, his horror making him whisper even though they were alone.

“I know. That’s not what I mean. I… I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

 _I wouldn’t tell anyone this_.

Lance kicked off the river bank and continued up the path. He didn’t need to look to see if Keith had joined him. They carried on in silence for a while, the buildings getting bigger and bigger, but Lance couldn’t find it in himself to be curious about what was inside. He was lost in his mind again. And he wasn’t the only one.

Keith was frowning at his feet. Lance could see him working through everything he’d said, picking apart each word.

“It’s not that deep, Keith,” He said eventually, unable to stand the analytical silence, “we were kids. I didn’t know what I wanted. I just… it was a mess. It was all a mess.”

Surely he shouldn’t have been the one reassuring _Keith_ about this. Keith gave him a tortured smile. It wasn’t exactly convincing. Lance put a hand on his shoulder.

“Seriously Keith, don’t stress. And… don’t be scared to talk about her. I don’t mind.”

Keith folded his arms. “Are you sure?”

Lance nodded. “Now tell me what’s in those weird buildings we’re heading towards.”

* * *

 

Turned out it was basically just a supersized garden center (though Keith wasn’t a fan of that phrasing - apparently it was home to the most advanced medicine in the galaxy, some of which had taken centuries to breed that way). As they strolled among the canopies of indoor forests, white dome roofs stretching above them like hyper-modern cathedrals, Lance tried to pin down Llarth’s dominant species. There were none. There were people and aliens from across the reaches of space. Balmerans, Galra, Olkari, Alteans… if Lance could name them, they were there - along with a myriad of others he couldn’t name. Thank god. He was scared he’d feel out of place.

It was the Alteans in particular that made him feel strange. The markings on their faces were almost identical to his own, only… he was human. But they didn’t know that. A few nodded at him as he walked by, achnowledging him as though he was one of their own. He felt a surge of guilt as he unneasily returned their smiles and nods. Keith must have noticed, because he steered him out of the largest building and into a startlingly dim one, lit only by the bioluminesence of the plants surrounding them.

“Sorry,” He said breathlessly, holding onto Lance’s elbow as his eyes adjusted to the dark. “It was hot in there.”

The humidity was dense, for sure. But this one wasn’t much cooler. This room was like a maze, only its walls consisted of glowing blue vines and its obstacles were swarms of fat fireflies. The pair wandered around it silently, listening to the drips of moisture splash into warm puddles on the path. Perhaps white wasn’t the best color for this particular outing - even though almost everyone was wearing it. Everyone except Keith and his stupid tight leathers.

“So, what’s this place?” Asked Lance, peering at a pulsating chrysalis.

“Some medicines have to be grown in the dark,” Keith explained, brushing a curtain of vines aside for them to walk through. “Careful though, there are poisonous spiders everywhere.”

Lance yelped and crossed his arms around himself before he caught a flash of white teeth and heard Keith's laugh peel beside him.

“Keith, you asshole.” He spat with real venom, “I’m arachnophobic!”

“I know.” He said innocently, “I just wanted to see you squirm.”

Somehow that sentence coming from adult Keith’s mouth sounded.... weird. And Lance didn’t muster himself in time to laugh it off.

Keith cleared his throat, pushing past Lance.

“Look, this is the only place in the universe where you can find a reliable cure for the slipperies.”

Lance wandered to where Keith was pointing, still a little shaken by the idea he wanted to ‘see him squirm’, but he obliged, squinting at the cluster neon pink flowers hanging like teardrops.

“You mean that thing Coran got? Ew. Gross.”

Keith grinned, the pink light throwing alien shadows across his already ethereal features. “I know right?”

Lance regarded him. “Since when were you into medicine? You never struck me as a biologist.”

Keith straightened and stepped over a root leaking something bright yellow and viscous.

“I’m not,” He replied with an air of boredom, “I’ve been here long enough to pick up a thing or two though.”

“Hmm.” Said Lance doubtfully, skipping to catch up and almost sliding in the yellow root snot. Was there a cure for being a waste of everyone’s time? Because Lance decided he could do with a dose of that.

There were roots _everywhere_. This room wasn’t very safe. But it also had an air of ‘not supposed to be here.’ And it was getting hotter… and it was dark.

“Keith, you need to get potatoes.” Lance remembered, grateful for his memory providing him with an excuse to leave.

“What?” Asked Keith, turning as he walked which was stupid and _really,_ he should have been looking where he was going.

Lance hadn’t had to move with so much speed in years - but as it was, he leapt forward and caught Keith as he slid backwards, tripping on one of those damn roots.

The first thing Lance thought was how Keith’s hair smelled abnormally good - it was citrusy with a hint of something like lavender. The second was how _light_ Keith was. He wasn’t so much shorter than Lance - and wasn’t he _made_ of muscle? Lance was worried about how much of his showed on his face as Keith gazed up at him from where he’d fallen (not at all gracefully) into Lance’s shaky grasp.

“S-sorry.” Keith stammered, scrambling against Lance’s shoulder as he helped him upright. Lance let out a tight laugh, his insides squirming (thankfully not so Keith could see) uncomfortably. “It’s okay. Are you alright?”

Keith nodded, pushing loose strands of hair out of his face as he glanced in the direction of the doorway.

“Potatoes. Right.” He whispered to himself in staccato, making a beeline for the exit.

“What the fuck is today?” Lance muttered under his breath as he followed Keith out, eyeing the dangerous roots.

They stopped at a small market on the way out, and Keith got his potatoes from an Olkari merchant with a missing eye in a hurry before setting off down the path through the meadows. By now, Llarth’s largest sun was a white disc hovering above the horizon, sinking lower and lower every second. It was by no means getting dark, but there was a buzz in the air that reminded Lance of crickets on a summer evening, and some of those gigantic fireflies had come out to meander through the grasses.

“Want me to carry that?” Asked Lance.

“No.” Keith replied, gaze fixed dead ahead.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about falling over,” Lance tried, his exasperation huffing out of him as he tried to keep up with Keith’s military march.

“I’m not!” Keith replied airily, though his expression said otherwise.

Lance rolled his eyes. “Will you at _least_ slow down?”

Keith did, stopping so abruptly that Lance almost crashed into him.

Lance decided, despite the now-somewhat-awkward-silence sandwiched between them as they walked side by side, Keith’s bag of potatoes banging into Lance’s leg every now and again, that the day had been a success.

  1. He’d gone outside (which had been the primary goal when they’d set off on this misadventure)
  2. He managed to talk to Keith ( _Keith!_ ) about Allura
  3. He’d seen other Alteans without experiencing an embarrasing bout of PTSD
  4. They didn’t forget the potatoes



Lance counted these ‘successes’ in his head until they reached the front door.

“Keith?”

“Yeah?” Keith faced him, one foot inside.

“Thank you for today.” Lance smiled at him. He felt weird. Well, he always felt weird, but this time he was happy _and_ weird.

Keith blinked. “Oh, it’s alright. It was nothing. You coming in?”

Lance considered this. He shook his head. “Nah. I’m gonna stay out here for a second.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“I’m not gonna drown myself in the river.” Said Lance before he could help himself. _Oops_. Probably not the best time for his dark sense of humor to make an appearance. But Keith’s expression remained neutral.

“Okay.” He said, “Don’t stay out too long. It gets a little cold at night.”

Lance wanted to tell him he’d spent countless nights sat outside in the rain back on Earth, waiting to feel something - _anything_ \- but instead he agreed.

He released a long sigh as the door closed, pivoting on his heel to stride into the meadow. The first sun was three-quarters of the way past the horizon, its iridescent beams reflecting off Keith’s sleek, black ship like a beacon. Lance waded through the grass, running his fingers through the bobbing green heads, thinking about earlier when he’d done the same thing and Keith had watched him with strange disquiet. Rounding the other side of the ship, Lance leant against it, eventually sliding down to sit in the grass. It was beautifully quiet - the evening began to fill with sounds - the kind of sounds that only existed to enhance the peace rather than detract from it. Even so, Lance’s head was a mess.

Minutes after that incident, he’d blabbed about the past - about Allura. Even if Keith didn’t mind, even if he thought nothing of it, Lance berated himself for spilling so much. It wasn’t even that he thought Keith would tell anyone, he just felt… vulnerable. Heck knows over the past few days Keith had seen enough of that. He’d tried not to think about the reason he was here in the first place - the inciting incident to this vacation which had led everyone to think he was a lunatic, but now…

Well, it was obvious.

Keith really did pity him.

No, Lance was not okay with it. But no, he realized now, he couldn’t blame Keith for it either. He was pitiful after all.

When the time came, hopefully soon, Lance decided the best course of action would be to phone his sister, or Shiro, or maybe even Acxa... (Lance wasn’t kidding himself - of _course_ Veronica had told her) either way, he’d phone one of them and tell them it was time to go home. Keith would be glad of the peace, surely - Lance only had to look at how today had ended to understand Keith preferred being on his own.

The elation he’d felt before had subsided into something more managable. It was a peaceful understanding that he was going to be okay.

Being okay was just fine.

The first sun sank until it was gone, hauling twilight in its wake. Llarth’s second sun was far smaller, but glowed a brilliant startling red as it followed its bigger sibling over the horizon.

“There you are.”

Even though Keith’s voice was soft, it made Lance jump. He hadn’t heard him push through the grass, he’d been so absorbed in his thoughts.

Keith stood above Lance, his expression unsure. “I know you wanted to be alone, but I…”

“No,” Said Lance, scooting over as an invitation for Keith to sit beside him, “I just wanted to watch the sun go down… the suns… ha.”

Keith settled comfortably by his side, resting his arms loossely atop his knees. Their elbows brushed, but not so it was uncomfortable.

They watched the scarlet sun inch lower and lower and let their eyes wander across the sky as new stars popped into view against the navy canvas.

It was hypnotic, and it was so warm that Lance thought he could even fall asleep here.

“We’ve done this before,” Said Keith, mouth edging into another sideways smile.

Lance swallowed. “Yeah, we have.” It came out gruffer than he meant it to.

“I’m sorry… we don’t have to talk about this.” Keith had mistaken Lance’s rough voice for sorrow.

Lance cleared his throat, giving Keith a bright smile, “No, no… I’m glad you remember too. That was a good night.”

They’d switched sides since the last time they’d watched a sunset together; Keith was on his left now, instead of his right. And Lance wasn’t dressed in a stupid costume (though he was sure his white trousers would look a little funny after getting covered in muck). He chuckled.

“I looked like an idiot.”

“Yeah, you really threw me for a loop.” Said Keith, sounding more comfortable.

Lance rested his chin on his knees. “You reeeaally helped me out that night, Keith. And no, I’m not being sarcastic.”

“I did? I thought I spouted a bunch of waffle.”

Lance shook his head. “You were the only person who told me I was really worth something.” Apparently today was a day where he said things that he only realized were true as the words slid past his lips.

Keith frowned. “I’m sure that’s not right.”

Lance shrugged. “It’s how I remember it.” He didn’t want this to turn depressing. It was too beautiful of a night. Or maybe Llarth was always like this and he hadn’t been paying attention the last couple of days.

“Keith, can I ask you a question?”

 _Hell_ , he was pulling out all the stoppers tonight.

Keith took a moment to respond before finally meeting his eyes. He wet his lips before saying, “sure,” and Lance got the impression he might have been nervous. _No way_. Kogane’s didn’t get nervous.

“Veronica told me it was your idea to bring me here.” He said, watching Keith’s eyes slowly widen. So it was true. He shook his head. “I can’t believe she took the credit herself.” He muttered, “Classic Veronica.”

But Keith wasn’t smiling.

“I just wanted to ask why you’d do that?” Lance continued, his own nerves riddling his insides. He shouldn’t have told him… “I mean, we aren’t - weren’t exactly friends anymore, I just… don’t get it.”

A pucker tucked itself between Keith’s brow. “Honestly? It’s a pretty selfish reason. I… sort of wanted the company.”

Lance gaped at him. “What?”

Keith grimaced as he turned to Lance. “I’m sorry. I told you it was selfish. Of course I wanted to help you too, but”-

-”Keith, don’t ruin it.” Lance laughed, running a hand through his hair. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Unless Keith had become a mind-reader and he’d figured out the exact way to put Lance at ease, he really was telling the truth and… maybe it wasn’t pity after all. At least not completely. Lance felt like he could yell for joy. He nearly did.

Keith was confused. “Ruin it?”

“Jeez, this whole time I - I thought you were only doing it because you felt sorry for me. I thought you saw me as weak.”

Now Keith was gaping. “Weak?! Lance, no.”

“No?”

“N _o!_ ”

“Sorry, I just had to hear you say it again.” He couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

Keith was watching him with a mixture of confusion and relief. “I’m… sorry if I gave you that impression. I didn’t mean to. I genuinely just wanted you to come with me. I thought you’d think I was out of my mind for saying it outright, so I made Veronica say it was her idea. I’m sorry.”

Red streaks of Llarth’s second sun splayed across the meadow in its last spectacular light-show for the day before it dipped, bleeding into darkness so the stars could have their turn.

“Yeah, but I think you’re out of your mind anyway,” Lance teased, “so it wouldn’t have made any difference.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but he was smiling too.

“I’m glad we talked about this like adults.” Said Lance.

“Yeah, took us long enough.” Keith snorted.

“Did we always antagonize each other like this?”

“Y _ou_ antagonized _me_.” Keith corrected.

Lance gave a short laugh of indignation, rocking back on his palms to face Keith fully.

“Oh, sure! It’s not like you were looking for a target to take your emo-rage out on.”  

“Emo-rage?” Keith repeated with mock-disgust, “You’re a child.”

“Better than being a mullet.”

“You can’t _be_ a mullet, Lance. I _had_ a mullet, but I wasn’t literally a mullet.”

Lance was biting back a laugh. “It still gets to you doesn’t it? Some people never change.”

Keith’s eyes were burning as he turned to give him a withering look.

“Trying to cook up another comeback?” Lance goaded. There was only so far he could push it - and he _knew_ it. And Keith knew it. But it didn’t stop Keith lunging for him and knocking him on his back.

Lance grabbed Keith’s upper-arms, laughing. There was no way he was strong enough to take on Keith, but as he flung his ex-rival off him and rolled on top, he couldn’t help but notice how _light_ he was again…

Keith hooked his leg behind Lance’s knee and with inhuman skill, he twisted him onto his front until his face was almost in the dirt.

“You give up yet?” Keith panted behind him, his voice brittle.

“You wish, mullet.”

But instead of fighting him more, Keith leant back and tugged on Lance’s shoulder until he rolled onto his back.

This was _not_ a position Lance had been in before - at least, not with Keith. His old teammate was almost astride him, hovering above him on his knees, chest rising and falling with exertion. They hadn’t fought _that_ much. But Lance wasn’t exactly ready to go again; he could feel sweat on his forehead and his veins rushed with heat. He didn’t know what to say as he gazed up at Keith who gazed down at him, a mirrored expression of dumbfounded _“now what?”_ on both their faces.

Lance felt himself lick his lips. He wasn’t sure why. He also wasn’t sure why he was suddenly so self-conscious - maybe it was the thin strip of brown skin showing just below his shirt. There was no explanation for the flood of sensation tingling behind his navel as he locked eyes with Keith. This was… unorthodox.

“Lance?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask _you_ a question now?”

Lance came to his senses. “Preferably when I’m not flat on my back in the mud.”

Maybe _mud_ was an exaggeration, but it was definitely squishy.

Keith looked him up and down, as though he’d only just discovered Lance was, indeed, flat on his back, before offering his hand to help him up with a stammered apology which shouldn’t have been endearing, Lance thought, but somehow it was.

They sat opposite each other, face-to-face, breathing heavily after… whatever that was.

“So, question?”

“Oh - yeah.” Keith settled back against his ship, swiping dirt off his knees.

“Well? The suspense is killing me.” Lance tried to joke, but it fell flat. There was a reason he’d stopped trying to be funny - this was it.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I was wondering what you meant about you and Allura when you said… when you said you felt like you fucked it up. Because it never seemed that way to me or the others.”

Lance’s heart pounded against his ribcage. He _knew_ it had bothered Keith, and from the apprehension in Keith’s eyes reflected back, he knew it had taken a lot for him to ask this question too.

“Well…” He began, his mouth dry. It helped if he looked at the stars. It’s what he used to do, back when it had just happened. He’d talk to the sky as though she was listening… he’d long stopped believing that. “We loved each other, sure, but - I always felt like her love was different to _my_ love, you know? We never really talked about the past. We never talked about” - the name stuck in his throat - “Lotor. There was always too much left unsaid. In some ways it felt like we were different people around each other, like we were trying to be what the other one wanted. Especially me. You remember, right? I _told_ you I thought I wasn’t good enough. Turns out… well, I don’t know how it would have turned out. Maybe it would have been fine. I’d like to think so. But maybe we were just too different from the start.”

Keith hung on his every word, and Lance felt his anxiety to say the right thing as he tripped over his next sentence.

“Are you saying… there were problems?”

Lance shook his head. “No. Never openly. That’s why it hurts. If we’d talked, I might have known the truth but…” He shrugged, “Now I’m stuck with not knowing forever.” _And I’ve been marked for it_. Keith’s eyes wandered to his markings just as he had the thought.

Lance sighed. “I know what you’ll say: there’s no point thinking about it. There’s no way I’ll ever know so what’s the point, right?”

Keith frowned. “No, I do think you should think about it. But I don’t think you should hate yourself for it.”

“I don’t ha…” The denial died on his tongue. Of course he hated himself for it. This is what it was all about. He drew in a sharp breath, “I know.”

“I used to hate myself for not knowing, too.” Keith told him, his voice hushed to a whisper again.

Lance waited.

“When my dad died, I spent days and nights with no sleep hating myself for not being able to save him. I constructed a narrative where his death was my fault. Maybe it’s not like that with you, but it’s the same poison.”

The same poison… 

Lance stared at him, wanting to be angry, but every time their eyes met it dissipated. He swallowed.

“You’re right,” He said at length, “I know this isn’t what she wanted for me."  Lance bowed his head.

“Lance, what do  _ you  _ want for you?” 

Lance snapped his eyes back up to meet Keith’s. That was a new one. He’d only ever been told how much  _ she _ would have wanted him to be happy, when it came to himself…

“I don’t know.” It came out panicked. “I-I really don’t know.” 

He wanted to feel safe. And secure. He wanted to feel loved. 

No. Fuck that. He wanted to feel  _ needed _ \- not like an add on. Not a burden. He wanted someone to genuinely need him and need them in return, because he had no idea what that felt like. 

If Keith knew what he was thinking, he didn’t show it. He smiled.

“You’re allowed not to know.” He said, beginning to stand. He offered his hand to help Lance up. Lance took it, and perhaps he held on for a second longer than he’d meant to before he let go. But Keith hadn’t let go either. 

Did this mean they were friends again? 

Keith burst out laughing. “Shit, you really shouldn’t have worn white.” 

Lance glanced down at himself. He was filthy. No surprises there. They had literally rolled around in the dirt like kids. 

“You didn’t have any other clothes!” 

Keith couldn’t argue with that one. “Okay. My bad. Come on, let’s get back inside. The mosquitos will be out soon.” He held out his hand again, and Lance took it before he knew what he was doing. 

_ Keith was leading him back to the house by the hand.  _ His brain was a clusterfuck of -  _ EXCUSE ME? HELLO? WHY ARE YOU HOLDING HANDS WITH KEITH?  _ But one timid, rational voice provided:  _ girls hold hands all the time, don’t they? _ Lance didn’t dwell on it. He also tried not to dwell on the cool smoothness of Keith’s elegant, long-fingered hand enclosing his own sweaty, dirty one. 

He stopped Keith at the door, and their hands dropped to their sides. 

“Keith, um…”

“Yeah?” Keith waited with open, honest eyes. How did they go from pure, Galra hostile to…  _ this _ ? When Keith looked at him like this, Lance wondered how he ever found him intimidating. 

“Do you know what  _ you  _ want?” Lance wasn’t sure why he had to ask. 

Keith waited a beat, and a series of barely-there emotions fled across his brow.

“Yes.” He answered. 

Great. So he was the only one with no fucking clue where to go from here. 

* * *

 

That night, Lance woke up screaming. 

His nightmares were back. 


	6. Nightmares

When Lance awoke drenched in cold sweat, a dying scream on his lips as he grappled with the demons from his fading nightmare, he thought he was dying. Keith knelt by his side, the shadows around his eyes full of pity and concern. Lance pushed him away when he tried to touch him and stumbled down the stairs where he collapsed on the couch, shaken to the core. The nightmare was still real; the whispers lingered in his ears, raising hot goosebumps all over his body. Even when he tugged off his sodden shirt and curled into a ball, staring wide-awake at the empty fireplace, the blurred images darted across his vision.

The hours passed like eternal seconds. He didn’t want to go back to sleep - couldn’t. The terror that awaited him in unconsciousness was far worse than the cold, lonely wakefulness he suffered. When first morning came, he heard Keith pad quietly down the stairs. He squeezed his eyes shut when he then lay a thick woolen blanket carefully over his huddled form, wishing to be left alone.

First morning died, and a serene darkness subdued the house into a faux nighttime once again. Trembling, Lance shrugged off the blanket and returned upstairs where he showered for almost an hour. Even when he’d scrubbed off the sweaty stickiness of his terror and emerged fresh and clean, his exhaustion weighed him down and he collapsed back into his little bed. Keith definitely wasn’t asleep. He was far too still. But Lance found he couldn’t face him, and drifted back into an uncomfortable sleep as second morning came.

He slept fitfully through most of the day, and when he awoke, it was to the smell of something delicious.

Keith must have sensed it, because he didn’t try to ask Lance about his nightmare. He simply let him eat the omelette he’d made for him in silence, offering no more than the occasional tentative smile or an offhand comment about errands he had to run.

All day, Lance racked his brains as he tried to remember what the cursed dream had been about. What had sent him into such a state? A morbid part of him desperately wanted to know - the rest of him hoped he never had to experience it again as dread curled an icy finger around his insides at the mere memory of it.

Lance’s hopes that the nightmare was a one off were shredded the next night when it happened again.

This time Keith’s expression wasn’t surprised, only grim.

“D-don’t touch me.” Lance choked out, trying not to sob as he made his way downstairs again without another look. It was humiliating. This time, he didn’t bother trying to chase the dreams away - he just sat in the dark having hauled the blanket with him, gazing into nothingness until his mind became a hollow void.

On the third night the images became horrifyingly clear, but by the time he woke to seize them they scattered as quickly as they had come. The nightmare recurred every night without fail - a little more vivid each time; a little more violent - always ending in Lance bolting upright, heaving for breath and grasping at thin air until his hands found Keith. And every night, without fail, he pushed Keith away with nonsensical accusations and found his way onto the couch to stare into the dim fireplace until morning came.

Soon, daytime felt like a dream in itself - a hazy partial reality where the colors were too bright and straight lines distorted and swam before his eyes. Even Keith was beginning to look wrong. His skin was greying with each day that passed and the hollows under his eyes were becoming bruise-like. Lance supposed that was his fault. It couldn’t be easy trying to sleep next to a neurotic man plagued with invisible demons.

After almost a week, Lance concluded that this was it - this was where his life had led him. After years of repressing his emotions into an unfathomable place, the well had become full. And it was violently flooding out.

 _Heat, cold, eyes, pain, dread_ -

Lance’s heart plummeted with realization as he awoke on the seventh night, his mouth dry and his throat burning after screaming out for so long. His hands were on Keith’s shoulders in the dark, and he was gasping for air, his skin sheened and glossy with sweat. Lance’s face was wet with tears he didn’t remember spilling and in his panic more fell, unbidden.

He was about to push away from him when Keith caught both his wrists in a vice-grip.

“Let go of me,” Lance grunted, his voice on the edge of breaking. He looked into Keith’s face, eyes adjusting to the light, and for a moment he thought he was still in his nightmare - Keith’s eyes gleamed out of hollow sockets, fixing on him with an intensity that sent reproach winding in his stomach. But it was only the shadows and his haunted mind making him see everything wrong. He blinked, and more tears slid down his face.

“Keith, please…” He got out, begging. He felt pathetic, but he was too exhausted to care.

“Lance,” Said Keith, his voice ragged as he held his wrists tight, “Lance, don’t run away from this again. It’ll only get worse.”

 _It can’t get worse,_ Lance wanted to say, but he didn't trust himself. Every night he told himself the same thing, and every night it got worse. He tugged against Keith’s grip.

“I don’t - I don’t want to. I don’t want to.” He found himself saying. He sounded like a child. He could hear the smallness of his voice, and it almost broke him.

Keith leaned into him, releasing some of the pressure on his wrists.

“Lance,” He implored, “Tell me what you saw… it’ll help, I promise.”

“How can you promise that?” Lance choked out.

Keith paused. “Because it helped me.” He said softly.

Briefly, Lance wondered who Keith had cried to about his nightmares. What were his nightmares about? Did he still get them?

He swallowed thickly and it felt like sandpaper rubbing against his throat.

“It was horrible… it was so horrible… I wasn’t even alive. I couldn’t breathe or move, but I could see... _everything_ …”

“It’s okay,” Said Keith encouragingly, and suddenly Keith’s voice was the only thing that mattered to Lance right now. It tethered him to sanity, holding him back from the edge of hysteria he’d been building up to all week.

“I was - in a ship.” Even now, as his memory slipped away from him, Lance tried to piece together bit by bit where he was in the dream. “The ship was wrecked, and so was my body. It was - it was like I’d melted. I couldn’t move or breathe because I was _dead_ but everything was laid out before me as though my eyes were still there but - when I saw my own body, they were gone. I was a shell, Keith. I was disfigured and mutilated by - something. I don’t know what... and there was someone there - looking over me and - I think it was a woman.”

“A woman?” Keith repeated, very still beside him.

Lance nodded, his heartbeat slowing as he caught his breath. “Yeah I… I think so… I was trying to scream out to her, but she couldn’t hear me. She just thought I was dead. And then... she burned me.”

Silently, Keith released Lance’s wrists as his voice broke and harsh, dry sobs wracked out of him from a place of pure despair. Lance didn’t fight now. He let Keith pull him to his chest and wrap his arms around his back as he cried more than he had in years. Lance was vaguely aware of Keith whispering meaningless comforts in between his sobs, and he was warmed by the slow, sure circles Keith palmed on his back, but soon his muscles gave in altogether and he was lying down, his head resting on Keith’s thigh, curled into him like a little kid. It should have been awkward - Lance should have been embarrassed when he listened to Keith’s voice soothing him as he lay in his lap. But he wasn’t. The cynical sobriety he’d come to rely on over the years disappeared as something far more potent bloomed in his chest. _A need_. He needed this comfort. He needed the misty, whispered reassurances coming from Keith. He needed to hold onto him, and be held in return, even if it was just for now. 

Lance drifted back to sleep as a final sob escaped his lips, Keith’s soft gentle fingers soothing his hair out of his face.

This was what he needed, even if it was just for now.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to be writing an essay. I wrote this chapter instead.  
> \- I know this one is super short, but the next one is finished and I'll be posting it tomorrow! Thanks again for your lovely feedback, you have no idea how much it helps<3 ~ Seb


	7. Strangers

When Lance woke up, it was to bright, iridescent sunlight light pouring in from the glass ceiling.  _I made it_ , he thought, struck with triumph. And then, as his fingers reached out to tug the sheets off himself, he met an obstacle. Turning his head, Lance found himself face to face with Keith. Keith, who was sound asleep, contented breaths purring from his barely open lips, ghosting Lance's chin with the subtle fragrance of lavender and citrus. He froze, his fingers touching Keith’s exposed, warm waist.

Suddenly struck with the inability to breathe, he stared at his unlikely companion until his lungs almost imploded and he was forced to draw in a shaky breath. As Keith's amicable scent tickled his senses again, the events of the night flooded back to him and a deep sense of shame spread through his chest, making his heart pump wildly with anxiety. If Keith wasn’t lying less than two centimeters away, Lance would have groaned aloud. But as it was, he allowed his fingers to gently retract from Keith’s waist and he made himself stare rigidly at the skylight, trying not to think too hard about the fact that he was shirtless and Keith was in his bed almost pressed up against him.

Despite the obvious unneasiness of the situation, Lance felt a new lightness in his chest. Perhaps it was because he had nothing to hide anymore - he’d literally sobbed all over Keith and then curled up in his lap. And he wasn’t even  _drunk_. How would he find an excuse for this when Keith woke up?

The lightness he felt skittered through his veins as he realized he didn’t have to think of an excuse. Why should he? He’d apologize - of course, but… somehow, he couldn’t fathom the need to come up with a justification for what had happened. Hmm. Confusing. Lance felt like he’d spent a good portion of his life thinking up excuses. It was odd not to have a need for one in possibly the most incriminating position he'd ever found himself in. He considered this - the incriminating nature of it. It wasn't as if there was anyone else here. It was just the two of them in this house on a planet housed in a galaxy light-years from Earth. For it to be incriminating, there had to be shame (check) on both their parts (surely Keith wouldn't have slept soundly next to him if he was ashamed? No check for that one - as far as he knew) and an external source judging them for... whatever this was (unless there were cameras in here, Lance highly doubted there were people scrutinizing this). One out of three of those things were true, but surprisingly, Lance's shame wasn't born from the fact he and Keith were sharing a bed. It was a direct result of the crying and screaming and sobbing and begging. Not... this. This was something else. This was something aching and awkward and hot and tangled and messy. This was something Lance had no idea to deal with, because what on earth would he say? Thankfully for him, he wasn't on earth. He was on Llarth. So did the same rules apply? 

When Keith  _did_ wake up a whole five seconds later, all of Lance's hard-thought strategies flew straight to the fucking astral plane and all he could muster was:

"Um - h-hi. Hello." Lance thought he deserved to be swept up by C.A.T because he was trash. 

Keith blinked at him, the dark smudges under his eyes more prominent than ever. Lance was ready to take the blame for that too.

 "Good morning," Keith replied smoothly, offering Lance a hint of a smile. He felt that odd twitch behind his navel again and mourned the loss of his dignity as he gaped at Keith.

"I'm sorry for the way I was last night."

"Don't be."

Why wasn't he moving? Why wasn't anyone  _moving_? 

Keith's face was mushed against his hands which he'd substituted for a pillow. It can't have been comfortable. 

Lance cleared his throat and directed his attention to the skylight again for fear of his wandering eyes. 

"How are you feeling?" Asked Keith, the softness in his voice an echo of last night's hushed soothings.

Lance nodded vaguely, his arms firmly by his sides. "Fine." He realized how  _not_ fine he sounded and was rewarded with an unpleasant flashback of him yelling at everyone as he lay in bed after his soporific pancakes.  _I'm FINE_ , he'd snapped at them. It was amazing how distant that seemed when... he gulped. It was less than a fortnight ago. 

This time though, Keith didn't push him. Instead, he hummed and began to rise from Lance's bed. He stretched his fingers into the warm, empty space. feeling the indent left in the mattress from Keith's body. How was it possible to be relieved and disappointed at the same time? Keith was wearing a loose, black vest and grey joggers. It hung gracefully from his broad shoulders, coming to stop at his slim waist. Keith stretched his arms over his head with a crack, and Lance was greeted with a confusingly detailed flex of biceps and the impression of his shoulder blades moving beneath the thin top. He shook his head as Keith tied his hair loosely into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. What the fuck was happening to him? Last night had screwed with his head. His eyes fell to his own, limp arms. Skinny. Weak. But... maybe not as skinny as they had been before he'd got here. Even through the nightmares, he'd been eating thanks to someone. As soon as Keith rounded the partition to his own side of the room, Lance peaked down at his body under the covers. There was definitely a difference. He was filling out. He had Keith's cooking to thank - he doubted all those takeaways over the years had done much to contribute to his athletic build. Lance missed the strength he'd had before. Back then, he hadn't given his body much thought - he'd been young and flexible and strong. Now he was... this. 

He listened to the soft ruffles of fabric on the other side of the room as Keith silently dressed, and his imagination provided him an image of the skin he  _hadn't_ seen... all the muscles that made up the stocky frame of his back, his abs, his legs...

"Fuck." Lance hissed. Imagining that kind of thing wasn't likely to do wonders for his self-esteem. He was too old to been getting jealous over another man's body. Jealous... no. He wasn't jealous.

Lance was flushed, and he was dying for some cool air.

"Everything okay?" Keith rounded the partition, dressed in black trousers and a figure hugging t-shirt (confirming Lance's imagination had probably been pretty accurate). 

"Err - yeah." Lance rubbed his temples and squeezed his eyes shut.  _Don't stare_. "Just a headache." 

"Breakfast is in ten. You okay with fried rice?"

Lance groaned at how delicious that sounded. "Hell yeah," He yawned, flinging back the blankets and trying not to be too aware of Keith's eyes on him, "see you in ten." 

As soon as Keith disappeared down the stairs, Lance bolted to the shower and turned the water to cold. It was the icy, jaw-clenching shock his body needed, and it ridded his mind of all disturbing thoughts of Keith's defined back muscles. Lance definitely wasn't thinking about it as he stole a glance at Keith's scruffily made bed either. And he certainly wasn't contemplating the warm silkiness of his waist against his fingers this morning. 

This was all just a distraction, Lance reminded himself. His brain was desperately trying to occupy him with something pleasant instead of the torturous nightmares, and Keith was the unfortunate recipient of his mind's coping mechanism. He was the only person here. It could have been anyone. 

Actually, Lance could never look that way at Hunk. No way. Or Pidge... okay, he'd  _thought_ about it with Shiro - he couldn't deny it. Not in any prolonged sense. It was just hard to ignore the fact that Shiro was one of the buffest guys he'd ever met. And he used to be his hero. Every teen boy had their man crush, and Shiro had been Lance's. But not anymore. He was too much like their dad or uncle or something. So... maybe he wouldn't look that way at just  _anyone_. But Keith was good looking, wasn't he? And he'd literally slept in Lance's bed - it was hard  _not_ to look at someone that way when they were millimeters from him all night, their sleepy breaths caressing his tear-stained skin after holding him for hours until he fell asleep. It didn't necessarily mean anything. It wasn't like Lance was going to act on it. He didn't even know if Keith could ever see him that way...

Okay, he was thinking way too deeply about this. Lance rubbed his knuckles against his temples before heading downstairs. He was already wasting energy he didn't have. 

Keith was wearing a blue apron as he cooked, the frying pan steaming with mouth-watering smells. He'd probably worn it before and Lance just hadn't noticed. It suited him. 

"Take a seat. It's nearly ready." Keith told him. 

Lance did as he was told and let himself watch Keith deftly cook the rest of the meal. He eyed the scar he tended to skate over, wondering if the blemish on his skin caused him as much disgust as Lance's markings caused him. Probably not. After all, it made him look more badass. The Altean markings just made Lance look like someone he wasn't. He grit back the acidic tension that rose to his throat whenever he thought about the markings and focused on the heaps of soy-sauce-soaked rice being piled onto his plate. Keith spooned a small amount onto his own, and sat opposite Lance at the table, slinging his apron over a chair. 

"Not hungry?" Lance nodded at his meagre portion.

Keith shook his head. "Not really. I don't usually eat much in the mornings." 

Weird excuse, Lance thought briefly. But he didn't dwell on it. His stomach gave an indicative rumble as he brought the food to his lips, and as always, it tasted amazing. For the first time in a week, Lance had the luxury of a full day ahead of him. He'd missed it. The possibilities of how it could be filled tingled in his fingertips as he shoveled the rice down. Keith pushed his food around his plate, his eyes faraway. Despite his warmth this morning, there was a dullness to his eyes that couldn't be missed. His scar was stark against his lack-lustre skin and his shoulders dropped tiredly over the table. 

Guilt chewed away at Lance as he picked apart Keith's appearance. He was physically exhausting him. He felt so... selfish. 

"I'm sorry." He said again, his voice quietened by how ashamed he felt. 

Keith's eyes drifted back up to him as he came back to reality. "What?"

Lance sighed. "You must be so tired. I've kept you up every night and - man, I feel terrible. You should get some sleep. If there are any errands you need to run, I'll do them okay?" 

His ex-rival stared at him, mouth slightly ajar and a slight frown threading his brows together. Then his expression became uncharacteristically hard and he pressed his lips into a thin line.

"Lance for the love of god, would you stop apologizing all the time? If I had a problem with you I'd tell you." 

The coldness of his words made Lance shrink back with hurt, but he tried to keep his feelings off his face as he snapped back.

"Alright! I was just - I don't know, man you don't look too good. I figured since  _I_ was the one causing so much shit this week that it was my fault. Sorry for caring." 

He stabbed his fork back into his plate, face burning. He hadn't meant to say it like that. Something about the way Keith had spoken rubbed him the wrong way was all. It was just... last night he'd been so careful, so gentle and soft and now... Well. Maybe they'd spent too much time together. For all of his niceties, Keith was bound to get sick of him eventually. Any normal person would have snapped by now - it just so happened Keith had an iron will. Until he didn't. 

The silence stretched miles between them across the small table, and neither of them were eating. Lance had completely lost his appetite, and Keith didn't seem to have one in the first place. 

Even the light had faded, bleaching the colors from the house and the meadow outside. Like a big, looming shadow was falling over them. Lance frowned as the grass outside began to shiver. Wait... there really  _was_ a big, looming shadow outside. And it was getting bigger. 

Keith pushed away from the table as a ship descended by the house, landing squarely opposite Keith's. It was pretty big and - Lance gulped - it belonged to the garrison. He could tell by the orange and grey stripes and the military-stamped J10 across its side. Was this it? Had they come to take him home? Was it really over? Keith was out the door, striding out to meet the visitor. Lance clutched his fork, palms getting clammy with anticipation. A week ago he would have leapt at the prospect of seeing someone from home. His sister, maybe, but now...

"I don't want to leave." The words fell out before he could stop them, taking their opportunity while Keith was out of earshot. 

Had he lost? Was he going to hospital? 

It was true, to anyone from the outside looking in, Lance probably seemed worse than ever. But he knew that wasn't true. For a start, he'd hardly given the marks on his face much thought this week. True, the nightmares had been more pressing but - at least he was  _dreaming_. At least he was crying. At least he was feeling again. He knew staying here was doing him good, though he'd die before admitting that to Keith. 

He tensed as the cockpit door gracefully swung open and out came a pilot. An MFE pilot, in fact. Lance squinted as the pilot removed his helmet. 

James Griffin. 

Now, he didn't know all that much about the MFE's second in command. He remembered him briefly at Shiro and Curtis' wedding. He remembered his indifference, his air of superiority, his reputation as one of the best pilots the garrison had seen climb through their ranks and the guy who'd taken number one spot at school after Keith had dropped out. But aside from that, the tall, sleek-haired man was something of an enigma to Lance. But apparently not to Keith. There was something familiar about the way James grasped the crook of Keith's arm as he greeted him, his mouth moving in urgent conversation. He handed a box of something to Keith, a deep-set frown carved into his slim features. Lance flinched as James' gaze fastened on the house. Was Keith talking about him...? And he tensed even more-so as the pair made their way over. If he was going home, he wasn't about to share several insufferable days in a cramped ship with  _this_ guy. Fuck no. Lance didn't even know him - he just decided it would, without question, be insufferable. Maybe it was the symmetrically arranged haughtiness of his features, or the way he regarded Lance with something akin to boredom as he entered the house. 

Lance straightened his back and made a conscious effort not too appear anxious. "Griffin, right?"

James nodded. "McClain. How's your face?" 

Lance nearly let his jaw drop. Was he  _serious_? How many fucking people knew? 

"My face?" He repeated enigmatically, cocking an eyebrow. "My face is just fine." 

_Suck on that, Griffin -_

James tipped his head, slight frown deepening as though he was angling to get a closer look at Lance. "Oh," He replied "That's good."

Lance had no idea what to say. If this was a wind-up, it was a bad one. Or was he really just that stupid? 

Keith coughed into the terse silence. "I'll be with you guys in a sec. Make yourself comfortable." He told James.

Lance's eyes fell to the small black case he was holding as he jogged up the stairs. It was too small to be anything like food or clothing, but big enough to hold something important. Mystery, mystery, mystery. Lance was growing tired of it. He turned back to his food, determined to ignore the other presence in the room. James' boots squeaked against the floorboards in the direction of the couch. 

The silence was deafening, and he willed Keith to come back. What had got into him? Usually he was the first to allow a silence to linger... not these days apparently.

"I didn't see you at the reunion." Said Lance, unable to bear it anymore. 

"No," James replied as if he wasn't really listening. When Lance turned, he was tapping on a device similar to Keith's hologram watch.  _Matching bracelets_ he thought briefly before banishing the thought from his head with a stab of self-disgust. "I didn't have time," James continued, oblivious to Lance's glare, "work keeps me pretty busy."

"Does, does it?" 

"Mmm. Say, what are you eating? Smells good." James finally looked up from his hologram watch to fix Lance's plate with a hungry look. Lance blinked. He couldn't figure out what this guy's deal was.

"Err... fried rice." 

"Any left over?" 

"S...sure." Lance brought over the still-warm remnants of his own food and a clean fork. It wasn't like he was hungry anymore. James tucked in with vigor. Lance stared. He sat on the couch opposite, trying to work the MFE pilot out. 

"This is good. Did you make it?"

"No. Keith did." 

"Ah," Said James knowingly, "He's pretty good at cooking." 

How the fuck did he know that? Were they  _friends_? The last Lance had heard, James and Keith hated each other... at least, they had in school. Shiro had told them the story once, rolling his eyes as he recounted a tiny Keith punching him in the face and nearly getting suspended for it. But they had been kids. And hell, Lance knew how much people could change. He only had to look at his sister and Acxa to know that. Maybe James wasn't a complete asshole, then. Just a little oblivious maybe. 

"How's he doing?" He asked once he demolished the last of the rice, placing the empty bowl on the floor by his feet.

"You mean Keith?"

James gave him that confused look again. "Who else?"

"He's fine." Lance told him. "He's good. Just tired, I think." 

James nodded, casting a glance to the stairs. "I think it's good you're here." He said in a hushed voice. "He needs someone to keep him from doing something stupid." 

The casual way James said this irked him for some reason, and he stood from the couch, snatching James' empty plate from the floor and shoving it in the sink.

"Keith isn't stupid." He found himself saying, "He's one of the most sensible guys I know."

James snorted. "Are you joking? Are you sure we're thinking of the same guy?"

Lance spun around. "Yes." He hissed, "I'm sure." 

James regarded him with narrowed eyes and another confused tilt of his head. "Is he eating?"

That was the last thing Lance had expected him to say. A confused burst of laughter left him.

"What kind of question"-? He stopped, remembering the way Keith had pushed around his food. He gulped back his retort. "No, actually... not really. But I don't see what that has to do with"-

James huffed and stormed off toward the stairs before Lance could finish his sentence, breaching them two at a time. He stood at the foot of the stairs and out of sight, straining his ears to hear the conversation that followed. He was met with rushed unintelligible whispers, and he scowled as he was left out of yet another conversation. Unless he was mistaken, it sounded like James was  _scolding_ Keith - for not eating? He almost snorted. He was acting like Keith's mom or something. A far more disturbing concept inched its way, unwelcome, into his brain.  _What if he was his boyfriend?_

"Get a fucking grip." Lance muttered to himself, stomping into the kitchen to noisily wash the dishes and the cooling frying pan. What was he, twelve? What did he care if Keith had a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend for that matter. What did it matter to him? It was none of his business. He was just here to keep him company, right? Oh, and because someone needed to keep an eye on him to make sure he didn't off himself. Only a minor detail. Christ. There was enough to be worrying about without fretting over something as inconsequential as who Keith chose as his partner. 

Maybe it was the idea of  _James_ _Griffin_ being the guy he'd chosen out of everyone. There were plenty of better looking guys, surely. And if it wasn't about looks, then... why? James was fucking weird. Lance was still muttering to himself and clanging pots and plates around in the sink when James and Keith finally descended the stairs. Lance's brain provided him with a number of saucy things they could have been doing up there, but he dismissed them all, deliberately burning his hands under hot water in an attempt to distract his thoughts. They were betraying him recently. 

"Well..." Said James, pausing at the doorway. "I'm going." 

"Okay." Lance replied with a shrug and not so much as a glance in his direction. He could feel Keith's cryptic scowl on the back of his neck. There was a short silence where, no doubt, Lance was expected to say something like 'goodbye'. But he didn't. And it was a relief when the door banged shut, signifying James' exit. He sighed into the empty space.

"Lance, what's wrong?"

 _Fuck_. He dropped the plate in soapy water. He thought Keith had gone outside to the ship like he had when James had arrived. Apparently not. 

"Hm? Nothing." His soap-slick fingers struggled to keep ahold of the smooth ceramic and he could feel his pulse darting erratically in his neck. Surely Keith's keen eyes would catch the tell-tale evidence of his panic.

Keith stepped into the open kitchen, and Lance could feel his confusion flooding the small space in hot waves. 

"Did he say something to you while I was gone?" 

"Not much."

C.A.T shuffled from his cupboard as Lance accidentally scooped a forkful of rice onto the floor. He beeped and whirred, supplying Lance with an adequate excuse to pat the robot's head and coo. He tossed another pinch of rice over his shoulder with a yelled  _"Fetch, cat!"_ and he was sure he saw Keith flinch. 

Lance gave a mocking laugh. "Jeez, I wasn't going to throw it at  _you_." It came out crueler than he'd intended, and a little twinge of guilt twisted his gut as Keith frowned at him, indigo eyes crowded with an emotion he couldn't place. In the brightening morning light, Keith's skin had regained some of its rosy glow. When had that happened? Lance turned back to the sink with a dismissive  _tut_ before he was caught staring. Their demi-argument over breakfast had created another wall - and so, Lance admitted to himself, had James' visit. He concluded his unnecessary sneer at Keith had been a result of the unexpected interruption and he planned to explain himself but he didn't get the chance.

Keith went out without a word when the suns were at their brightest, and the productive day Lance had planned fell to absolute shit. To be honest, he hadn't known  _exactly_ what he was planning. He was secretly hoping Keith might have another adventure up his sleeve - a moon to see on his fancy ship or another supersized garden center to visit. But no. Lance was left alone in the house with a plethora of options - all of which he'd have to execute on his own. 

Well, not quite. 

He became quite addicted to playing fetch with C.A.T. The little robot was deft, and Lance could almost swear it was learning his throw-patterns. But he got bored after an hour and decided he should get some fresh air before his confined thoughts drove him stir crazy. Wearing a plain white t-shirt and trousers, Lance headed outside and went in the opposite direction to the ship this time, behind the house. He sighed as he breezed through the waist-high grasses, brushing his fingers along the heads of flowers and steering clear of the abnormally fluffy sheep (he couldn't be too careful. They were alien sheep after all. Maybe they would bite). He had an urge to talk to someone - someone who wasn't Keith. He wanted to talk to Shiro. He felt like Shiro might give him answers. After all, Shiro was one of the only people who'd stayed on Earth that regularly checked up on him now that he thought about it. Pidge had a busy career and Hunk's work took him all over space.

Shiro would set things straight. 

But Keith had taken his damn watch with him. 

Fuck it, Lance thought. And he kept walking.

* * *

 

The sun was starting to set, and Lance was in a hole.

Literally. 

He should have been watching where he was going, but the gently moving clouds above and the pendulous swaying grass-heads had been hypnotic. It wasn't his fault he'd accidentally missed the gigantic void in the ground opening up beneath his feet and swallowing him whole. Thankfully, he hadn't hit his head. Un-thankfully, he'd twisted his ankle, and the hole was about nine-feet deep so for now he was stuck at the bottom, massaging his ankle and his wounded pride. The fertile black soil had spattered his white clothes with dark brown smudges and the sharp smell of earth was beginning to overwhelm him. Panic that he might never be found making his senses tingle as he tried and failed yet again to find a foothold in the walls of the hole and, yet again, fell straight back onto his ass as his ankle buckled. 

"FUCK!" He hollered, cringing against the pain. His hopes were that an innocent passerby heard his incensed ramblings and came to rescue him. But the chances were astronomically low. Keith lived in the middle of fucking nowhere and Lance had walked even further out to find this charming spot. Fucking wonderful. 

Resigning to his fate, Lance shuffled into the middle of the hole and lay back until all he could see was the round edge of the hole - a circular window to the sky. Now that he looked, he realized the evening sky was a faint indigo. The sun gave everything a purple tinted filter, even the clouds. He lay there, closing his eyes and listening to the mild wind dip through the meadow above him. He tried to empty his mind, but memories of his disturbing nightmare crept up on him and before he knew it, he was curled on the soil, incessantly rubbing his upper arms. Being in such an enclosed space didn’t help… it reminded him of the pilot’s chair in his dream, encasing his deteriorated body in melted plastic as a woman stood over him.

 _Mother_.

Lance sat bolt upright. _No_ … that couldn’t be right. His own mother didn’t look like that. This was someone else’s mother. Someone else’s dream.

Someone else’s reality.

Intensely shaken by this revelation, Lance tried to order his thoughts. Nightmares came in all forms. Ten years ago, right after he’d lost Allura, he’d had spine tingling dreams of walking into a bright burning light. He’d had them for almost nine months - and then they’d stopped. And then he hadn’t been able to dream at all.

Until… now.

But why?

Lance’s thoughts paused when he noticed a flash from the wall of soil. Squinting, he crawled forward on his hands and knees, approaching the thing with caution. He stopped until he was nose-to-nose with the thing that had caught the light. It was glassy and orange, protruding from the Earth conspicuously. Lance plucked the rock from the soil, gasping at what he’d found. The rough object rolled into the palm of his hand. It looked like a fiery red opal trapped in rough, brown stone. Raw. Uncut. Gleaming from the cracks of its dull prison. Lance turned it over in his fingers and rubbed at the rough cracks, pushing away the dirt.

Well if he died, it would be with a pretty rock in his hand.

But no such luck.

“There you are.”

Lance sighed as Keith had to rescue him from yet another low moment.

Tucked under the crook of Keith’s shoulder, he helped Lance limp back to the house. Aside from a few grumbles of _‘how did you get yourself down there?’_ and _‘I could only find you with a thermal heat sensor…’_ the walk back was pretty much silent. The rock weighed down Lance’s pocket, and he was aware of it with every step (limp) he took. He was also aware of the giant wedge of more unsaid things lodged between them. Either Lance was making things up in his head again, or Keith was avoiding his eye.

Lance didn’t dare sit on the clean white leatherette sofas in his mud-wrecked clothes, so he clambered up the stairs on all-fours, collapsing when he reached the top. Keith followed him, his hands on his hips.

He regarded Lance’s splayed, panting form with disdain. “You should see to that.” He said, nodding at his rather swollen ankle.

Lance huffed. “Shower first.”

“How will you stand?”

“With difficulty.”

Keith tutted, but he let Lance get on with it. As it was, Lance had to sit in the shower, letting the scalding water rush over his sore ankle and gently soak the dirt out of his pores. He poured copious amounts of shower-gel over himself, scrubbing and scrubbing until the water ran clean.

He shuffled one-legged out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. He was surprised to find Keith waiting for him in his side of the room. He gulped and tightened his hold on the towel, grabbing onto the partition for support.

“I brought bandages.” Was Keith’s explanation as another bizarre silence stretched between them.

Lance stared, his hair dripping cold water onto his bare shoulders. “You didn’t have to.”

Keith shrugged. “Sit down.”

Sensing he wasn’t going to win this argument, Lance sighed and settled onto his bed, stretching out his leg.

He winced as he tried to flex his ankle, but found the bulky joint stiff and swollen.

“Fucking stupid.” He muttered as he considered how oblivious a person had to be not to notice a gap in the ground the size of a small swimming pool. 

“Hm?” Said Keith, bending on one knee and gently pressing the tips of his fingers against his ankle, eyes intense as he examined the damage.

“I said, fucking stupid.”

“Yeah, you are.”

Lance snorted, but there was no heart in it. And he couldn't exactly disagree. Keith had just had to fish him out of a nine-foot hole in the ground (with the help of some handy rope and Keith's ridiculous upper-body strength). Besides, he was becoming very absorbed in the way Keith’s hands caressed his foot, nudging it this way and that.

“That hurts.” Lance said through gritted teeth. It didn’t hurt much, really. This was just kind of an awkward position to be in; practically naked and under the serious violet scrutiny of his ex-rival.

Keith ignored him and began to unravel the roll of standard, white bandages he’d brought with him, snipping off a considerable length to deftly wind around Lance’s ankle. He grimaced as Keith tightened it, and sighed with relief as he fastened it into an elegant knot and let Lance’s ankle free. Lance pushed his toes against the floor, finding much more support there.

“Thanks.” He mumbled. But Keith was still kneeling on the floor, staring at his leg.

“What?” Lance breathed as the air around them stilled.

Keith brought his fingers to a spot just above the bandage. “When did you get this one?”

Lance inhaled. His legs were covered in long-healed lacerations, the white scars stark against his brown skin. He often forgot they were there.

“Our first fight with a Robeast on the Balmera.”

“And this one?” Keith’s feather touch traced a zig-zag scar along Lance’s shin. He shivered, fists tightening around the blankets.

“Mermaids.”

Keith breathed a laugh, his breath tickling the hairs on Lance’s legs as he gently skimmed more scars up and up along Lance’s leg until his hand was resting above his knee. The sensation was sending sparks through his body, and it was everything he had to keep frozen, his heart hammering wildly against his ribcage.

Keith’s gaze was fixed on the thick white line on Lance’s skin, and thank heavens - Lance was sure a steady blush was creeping onto his chest, rising to his neck.

“What about this one?” His voice was barely a whisper.

The scar was straight and clean cut. There were more like it, but Keith’s hand would have to venture further up his thigh to find those - and Lance wasn’t sure what he would do then…

“I…” Lance’s breath hitched in his throat as Keith’s gossamer touch hovered above the scar. The towel around his waist was at risk of exposing him, because there was no way it would conceal the jolt of arousal stirring below his navel as Keith’s fingers continued to probe Lance’s old wounds.

“I don’t know.” He said finally on an exhale, shifting to lean forward and hide the evidence of what this was doing to him. “Probably another stupid battle.”

Keith’s gaze flicked up to meet his then, and Lance forgot to draw breath. He had a sudden urge to reach out and touch the scar on Keith’s face, tracing it with his fingers and ask _“And how did you get this one?”_ even though he knew the answer. But he hadn’t heard the story from Keith’s lips. He wanted to… he wanted to talk about the past they shared. He wanted to breach the wall that had formed between them and take down every layer, brick by brick, until there was nothing left except the truth. Keith’s hand was warm and heavy above his knee, and their faces were close now Lance had leaned forward. The eye-contact was piercing, and Lance had to drop his lashes - only now he was staring at Keith’s _mouth_ instead, and that wasn’t much better. A pink blush dusted Keith’s cheekbones as he mirrored Lance and now… well, they were staring at each other’s lips, weren't they? In the seconds that followed, Lance struggled to recall how they’d got here. Ah, yes - he’d had to lean forward to hide his erection because Keith was fondling his leg. Right. He inhaled, and his senses were smacked with the sobering flavor of lavender and citrus. Keith’s hair. He was definitely too close if he could smell that.

With a huff of feigned exhaustion, Lance leant back with a stretch, flopping back onto the bed and shutting his eyes. His chest was suffering after the beating his heart was giving it, and his stomach was in knots. But he sighed as though he didn’t have a care in the world and flung his arms behind his head with an indifferent,

“Well, thanks Keith. My ankle feels much better.”

God, he was such a good actor.

He bit his lip as the warmth of Keith’s hand left his leg. Then he was forced to cross his other leg over because unfortunately his dick wasn’t as talented as he was in the acting department and he’d die before letting Keith see _that_. He cracked open an eye as Keith rose from the floor, turned his back on Lance, and headed for the stairs. Lance shot upright.

“I-I’ll be down in a moment.” He told him, somewhat breathlessly.

Keith nodded without turning around. “Alright.” He replied blankly.

Lance waited for him to disappear before deflating with a soft groan. _Fuck._ He couldn’t tell if he was angry with himself for pulling away or angry with himself for letting it get to the point where he had to.

He knew that logically, this was Keith’s way of trying to get him to open up and talk about the past. Poor Keith. All he’d done was tried to have a civil conversation and Lance couldn’t even do that without getting a fucking boner.

He stared down at his groin in disgust. “You are the worst.” Then he recoiled and curled into a ball on the bed as he realized he was talking to his cock. This was a new low. He’d rather be back in the hole.

The funny thing was, Lance hadn’t been able to get aroused for a seriously long time before this. He had needs, sure, but for the past few years they’d been satisfied purely for no other reason than he had nothing else to do. He couldn’t remember being genuinely turned on by anything in eons, let alone receiving rogue stiffies during platonic post-shower chats. It wasn’t the fact that Keith was a guy that unnerved him about this - actually, Lance had come to the conclusion he was bisexual quite a few years ago. There were only so many episodes of _Spartan Adventure_ (a show predominantly revolving around men ripping their clothes off and charging into battle) a guy could watch before he had to look at himself and consider _why_ the rippling of other men’s muscles in slow motion was so appealing. Even so, it wasn’t like Lance had been in any position to dwell on it. He was getting about as much action as a celibate druid. No, it wasn’t the fact that Keith was a guy. It was the fact that it was _Keith_. It was the fact that his strong feelings for his ex-teammate had started off as jealousy and become something else - something that ten years ago, he wouldn’t have been able to comprehend amidst the war and his own juvenile insecurities, but now… well, the comprehension of these facts was proving far more chaotic than he’d prepared himself for.

Cursing his brain and body for betraying him, Lance took his dirty clothes and shoved them in the laundry basket, retrieving the rough, fire-colored rock from his pocket. He dressed and headed down the stairs after an internal pep talk, the rock clutched tightly in his fist.

The bandage restricted his movements, but at least he didn’t need to crawl or rely on Keith for assistance. Christ, he’d rather lay in bed until he was healed than dare get so close to him again - and not because he was afraid of Keith, but because he was afraid of what his body might do in response. Hell only knew, he couldn’t trust it to do what he wanted anymore.

Keith was sat cross-legged on the couch, a book laid open across his lap. Lance allowed himself a moment to appreciate how peaceful he looked before breaching the room and heading towards him.

“Hey, I found this in that hole I got stuck in.” Said Lance, doing a surprisingly good job of keeping his voice level compared to the turbulence of his thoughts as he tried not to look at Keith’s mouth again.

Keith took the rock from him, turning it over in his fingers as Lance had done. “It’s a heart stone.” He told him bluntly, holding the stone to the light to examine the firey cracks, “There are lots of them on Llarth… most of them aren’t really this colour though. It’s a nice one.” He handed the rock back to Lance and closed his book, placing it on the side table.

“A heart stone…” Lance repeated, looking at the rock with new eyes. “Do you think it could be cut?”

Keith shrugged. “Sure. With the right equipment.”

“What would I need?”

“...You’re not actually thinking of cutting it yourself, are you?”

Lance paused. “Why not? I think I could do it.”

“It would take a lot of work,” Said Keith with a yawn, “You’d need to sand it by hand. I don’t have a machine.”

“I’ll do it.” Said Lance, making the decision to cut this stone right there and then, “Can I get the supplies tomorrow?”

Keith blinked up at him. “O...kay… I have some sanding paper on my ship. You can use that… and there’s a database wired up to this thing”- he tapped his watch- “that’ll show you how to do pretty much anything, but… are you sure?”

Lance smiled. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Keith kept that bewildered look on him for a few more seconds before relaxing back into his bitch-face. Keith still had a resting bitch-face, even after all these years. Lance bit back a smirk at the thought. It had irritated him so much when they were teenagers.

“Alright, then.” Keith conceded, rising. “If that’s what you wanna do. I’m going to bed. I’m pretty tired. Need anything before I go up?”

Lance shook his head before settling into the spot Keith had been sat in. It was still warm. He shivered involuntarily.

“Actually,” He stopped Keith on his way out, “I’d like to call someone.”

Keith raised a brow, but wordlessly tossed him the watch. “Knock yourself out.” He said, before stalking back upstairs.

Lance waited a long few minutes before whispering to the watch, “ _Call Shiro.”_

The older man answered almost straight away, and Lance was thrown to see him. He looked so normal, and these past couple of weeks had been so strange.

“Lance!” He exclaimed happily, his glasses sliding from the bridge of his nose as he answered in haste. “We’ve been waiting to hear from you.”

“We?”

Curtis edged into shot. “Hey, dude!”

Lance waved. “Hey, Curtis! How’s it hanging?”

“Aside from this idiot thinking he could fix the roof on his own and leaving us with four leaks and a bill higher than Olympus Mons, just fine and dandy thanks. Yourself?”

Lance chuckled. “Oh, yikes. I’m pretty good.” Curtis pecked his husband on the cheek.

“Well that’s great to hear, Lance. I’m gonna hit the hay. I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

“Later, Curtis. You tried to fix the roof?”

Shiro rolled his eyes. “He’s being dramatic. It wasn’t four leaks, it was three and the bill isn’t _that_ bad.”

“Just because you have that fancy arm, it doesn’t make you Mr I-Can-Do-Anything.”

Shiro pursed his lips. “That’s exactly what Curtis said. So, how are you… I mean, really?”

Perhaps Shiro wanted to change the subject and divert the attention away from his domestic mishap - whatever the reason, the concern in his voice was real.

“I’m honestly… better. A lot better.”

Shiro’s brows drew together. “Keith said you’ve been having nightmares.”

 _Dammit Keith._ “Yeah, I have. I’m okay though, I promise.” he attempted another smile. It must have been convincing enough, because Shiro dropped it. They spent the rest of the conversation discussing Llarth itself - and Lance learnt a little more about the place. It was an unoccupied planet until after the war and Voltron had disbanded. It was set up to help healing refugees recover; that explained the multitude of different species Lance had seen last week. It was also part of a network spread out across this section of the galaxy - Trato. Lance remembered something about Keith saying they were in Tratonorth, so that made sense, and Lance was grateful to Shiro for filling in the gaps Keith had failed to explain. Classic Keith, Lance thought; so oblivious to the details. Unless they concerned the scars on Lance’s legs. His stomach performed a somersault, and he realized he’d been silent for an abnormal number of seconds.

“Lance?”

“James Griffin stopped by today,” Lance burst out. He coughed, “He didn’t stay for long. It was… strange.”

“Strange?”

Lance shrugged. “He gave Keith this random case, ate our food then fucked off. It was all very secretive.”

Shiro laughed. “That sounds like James. Straight to the point, as always.”

“No shit.” Lance mumbled. “I dunno, man. There was a weird…” He struggled, “Tension.”

Shiro clicked his tongue, glancing away from Lance. “I see.”

“Do you? ‘Cause I don’t. I feel like I’m missing a lot. Maybe I’m just dumb.”

Shiro shook his head. “You’re not dumb, Lance. Quite the opposite.” The odd comment threw Lance. “If you’re worried about it, you should talk to Keith.”

“What makes you think I haven’t?”

“Because if you had, you wouldn’t be telling me.”

 _Wise old man_ , Lance nearly said, but that would earn him a thorough look of disapproval and it would also give Shiro the satisfaction of knowing he was completely right. He hadn’t talked to Keith about it at all. He didn’t feel like he had the right. But he didn’t voice these thoughts to his friend, knowing himself how irrational they were.

Lance sighed. “Maybe I will. Anyway, it’s no biggie.”

Shiro nodded, eyes lost in thought for a moment, and Lance guessed he knew something - something he wasn’t saying or maybe… something that wasn’t his place to say. Perhaps. But then, Lance was burdened by the habit of overanalyzing everything and everyone. 

He said goodnight and wished Shiro well, promising to call back soon, before flopping back on the couch and thinking hard.

To ask or not to ask?

He’d said it himself. It was no biggie.

Feeling exhausted himself, Lance turned off the lights and trudged to the stairway, taking a precious moment to eye the fireflies hovering amongst the moon-bathed meadow with serene delight. It was funny how one look at the beautiful world outside could instill him with enough surety that everything would be fine come morning, even if he _was_ once again plagued by nightmares.

And he was. This time, when he gasped into unconsciousness, hauling oxygen into his lungs like a drowning man, he clung to Keith for dear life. Because of course Keith was already waiting for him to wake up. The tears didn’t surprise him anymore. Keith’s arms winding around his back didn’t cause him embarrassment or shame - in fact he craved his touch right now, perhaps even more than he had the night before, because this time the nightmare had been so much worse. The colors were brighter, the sensations more real and the unshakable feeling that he was slipping into another reality where he wasn’t alive and a strange woman who simultaneously was and wasn’t his mother stood over him, waiting for him to burn, was getting so much stronger. Keith whispered into his hair, gently rocking him and whispering, _“it’s alright, Lance… it’s alright.”_ until Lance slumped into his lap and allowed Keith’s fingers to thread through his hair and lull him into almost-sleep.

 _Almost_ . Just when his thoughts began to drift from the waking world into the one waiting for him on the other side of sleep, Keith detangled himself from Lance’s grip and stood. _No_.

“Don’t leave.” Lance whispered against the drag of unconsciousness. He didn’t want Keith to go… not yet. Or maybe he already had and this was just a dream, in which case it didn't matter what happened next. Nothing mattered in dreams. 

“Don’t leave.” He repeated, his cry-worn voice rasping in the hollow darkness.

His relief was unmatched when Keith’s hands found his again, and Lance instinctively moved aside to give Keith room to slip into bed beside him. The warmth of another body beside his own was something akin to bliss, and Lance didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Keith’s waist, pulling him closer and burying his face, still wet from tears, into the crook of Keith’s neck. Lance had been confident this was all a dream to soothe his tortured mind until Keith’s citrusy scent snuck through the surreal-filter of his subconscious to remind him that this was in fact very real. He’d deal with that later. For now, he decided he wouldn’t be able to continue without this. He needed Keith by his side as much as he needed air, and his momentary panic that he’d gone too far dissipated as Keith snaked his arms around Lance’s torso in return. Lance wondered if it was an accident that Keith’s mouth rested just above his hairline, purring dulcet sleepy breaths into his tousled, overgrown hair. He also wondered if Keith’s knee pushing slightly between his scarred legs had happened on purpose too, or whether that was simply because there wasn’t enough room for them to sleep side by side. He decided it didn’t matter, because in Keith’s arms he was the most relaxed he’d ever been, and it wasn’t long before he followed his ex-rival into a deep slumber, saving his burning questions for tomorrow.


	8. Beauty

Ignoring his trembling fingers, Lance removed the towel from the bathroom mirror. It wasn’t like he was seeing himself for the first time; he’d caught his reflection on more than one occasion in the glass windows of the house, often choosing to look away, sure, but… he knew what he looked like. And it wasn’t that bad.

It wasn’t that bad.

Still sheened with the gloss of fresh droplets from his shower, Lance’s skin glowed in the bright bathroom lights. The mirror began to mist with condensation, but not before he’d raked his eyes critically over the opposing turquoise marks on his cheekbones. Crescent shaped indents formed as he dug his nails into his palms, bracing himself for the inevitable self-loathing and coil of regret, dread, just… all the general shit he was used to. But nothing came. Lance scowled at himself, taking a harder look at his reflection. His hair was longer, the wet strands curling at the nape of his neck and falling over his blue eyes, which darkened with determination. His chin was sharper than usual as he regarded himself.

But it wasn’t that bad.

A stone-cold neutrality planted itself firmly in Lance’s chest, and he decided he must have used up every ounce of self-loathing he’d had for the faux Altean markings, because right now he felt nothing.

Shaking his head, Lance snatched the towel from the floor before C.A.T sensed the disorder and came whirring and beeping into the shower room. He wasn’t ready for the little robot to scarper about his feet while he was naked. Besides, it might wake Keith.

Lance sighed, roughly drying his hair with the damp towel.

 _Keith_.

Waking up wrapped in the other man’s arms hadn’t exactly been a surprise. He remembered asking him to stay. But the press of their bodies and the heat had made it extremely difficult for Lance to conceal the bolt of arousal he’d experienced as Keith’s knee had shifted against him. He’d angled himself away from Keith, inch by inch, until he was free to dart to the shower and desperately blast himself with cold water in an attempt to shrink the pound of blood rushing southwards. It had worked, but Lance was left with a sinking feeling of inevitability - Keith would find out what their early morning cuddles were doing to him soon enough. Would he be disgusted? Would he be sympathetic? Would he attempt to laugh it off? All modes of rejection circled his troubled brain. They had done countless times. He couldn’t decide which would be the worst.

But for as long as Lance’s nightmares continued, (and they were showing no signs of stopping) Keith would be there - ready and waiting to hold him through the night and lull him into oblivion.

Sanctimonious Saint Keith. Lance snorted at his own, tired reflection. He didn’t want to be bitter anymore. It was still there though, lodged in his breast-bone like a knife. Keith wanted to help him and not, as he’d assured him, out of pity. He wondered where this resounding voice of moral-reason came from. Who was the little voice that spoke (or shouted) to Keith day by day when he set out to save the universe from shit? For Lance, it used to be Allura’s voice. Slowly though, it was drowned out by a louder one. A clanging, screeching, cruel voice that Lance came to conclude was his own. And he’d succumbed to it.

Now there was no voice.

The silence in his mind was disconcerting to say the least, and being in his own company only made it worse. He needed to be infected with Keith’s intense moral-superiority again. He needed that flare of… _something_.

He needed an argument.

Lance hoisted the towel around his waist and banged the bathroom door shut behind him, limping into the bedroom. He’d hoped the slam would wake Keith up, but Keith was already awake. He blinked, mid-way through tying his ponytail. That alone irked him.

Before he could open his lips to say what Lance presumed to be some all American happy-clappy greeting like _“good morning, sunshine!”_ , he snapped,

“Your buddy James Griffin was a dick to me yesterday.”

Keith tightened the knot at the nape of his neck and stood, facing Lance.

“I asked you if he’d said anything and you said ‘not much’ so don’t start at _me_ about it.” Keith matched his tone.

 _Yes_. This was going to be a good one.

Lance scoffed. “Right, ‘cause you just expected me to own up to it then and there.”

Keith gestured to nothing, scrunching his nose in disbelief. “Own up to _what_? Jeez, you’re in a mood this morning…”

“I felt outnumbered!”

Keith shook his head, turning away from him to snatch a fleece from the floor.

“Outnumbered,” He repeated with a laugh, “How old are you?”

Lance marched somewhat lopsidedly around Keith so he was forced to look at him.

“Why didn’t you stand up for me?” He demanded.

Keith clicked his tongue. “There was nothing to stand up _to_. He didn’t do anything.”

“When he said that thing about my face!”

Keith frowned. Lance willed him to shout. He’d truly lost his mind.

“You mean… when he asked you about it? Lance, I don’t think he meant anything. He was just trying to be nice.”

Lance made a sound of indignation. “Nice my ass. That guy is fucking weird.”

Keith was supposed to be getting angry, not concerned. “What the hell did he do when I went upstairs?”

 _Fuck_ … this wasn’t working the way he’d hoped. “You mean when you abandoned me with a stranger?”

Keith threw his hands in the air. “He isn’t a stranger!”

“Not to you, he isn’t! Fuck knows what he is to you.”

Okay. He didn’t expect Keith to flinch at _that_. But he did. Visibly so. Lance narrowed his eyes. “So?” He pressed. “What is he to you?”

“What the fuck are you getting at?” Keith ground out, flushing red with rage. _That was more like it…_

Lance barked a laugh. “Nothing, Keith. I’m just sick of being shoved to the side while you guys prance around in your fancy ships with your secrets.”

Keith spluttered at the accusation, back towards the stairs. “This is fucking baseless. What the hell has gotten into you?!”

_I don’t know. I don’t even mean it. I just want you to shout at me._

“In case you hadn’t noticed, Keith” He spat, following him to the stairway, “I didn’t get any say in all of this. All of you plotted against me to - to - humiliate me!”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Get over yourself.” He hissed, stopping at the top of the stairs so Lance was forced to halt in his face. “Just when I thought you’d”-

“I’d _what_?”

“Just when I thought you’d gained a shred of self-respect, you’re back to acting like a fucking twelve year old boy with a victim complex.”

Somehow this quiet, cutting rage flooded Lance’s veins with more heat than the shouting he’d been goading him for. It was fucking fantastic.

“Go on. What else?” He provoked.

Keith’s eyes scorched him. “You keep going on and on about how _you’re left out_ but whose fault do you think it is, Lance? You’ve spent the last ten years shut away doing fuck all, waiting for the universe to give you something else - waiting for it to launch you into another fairytale but that’s not how life works! You’re fucking deluded.”

“At least I’m not obsessed with proving to everyone I’m a good person! At least I don’t have a - a messiah complex!”

“At least I’m not stuck in the past!” Keith shouted, butting forward until they were almost nose to nose. 

The beginnings of a fight stirred sparks between them, and for a moment Lance was tempted to take the opportunity - to go one step further and satiate the vehement twitching in his bones. But there was no need. He'd proven his point to himself. Instead, he exhaled and sank to his knees, saturated with Keith’s furious heat.

“I fucking knew it.” He sighed.

“What? Lance, what the…?” The fire wasn’t gone from his tone, but it was laced with confusion.

Lance rested his head against Keith’s knee, shoulders shaking with laughter.

“What’s so funny? What the hell is wrong with you? Knew _what_?”

He settled back on his haunches, fixing Keith with an amused grin. “It’s you.”

Keith’s chest was heaving with unspent frustration, his pecs visible through the thin black material of his vest. Lance had no idea why he immediately focused on that.

“What’s me?” He said through gritted teeth, evidently trying to restrain from shouting. Lance wished he wouldn’t.

“The reason I’m like this! Whenever I’m with you, it’s like I can _feel_ again… I mean… no, that didn’t sound right.” He stood, a couple of inches taller than his bewildered house-mate. “When I’m on my own, my mind feels empty, you know? It’s been like that for years. But since I’ve been here, I… I have flashes of stuff I thought I couldn’t feel anymore. Like anger. Like irritation. It started again from the moment you walked in with those fucking pancakes and every time I’m around you it’s there.” He breathed out with another sated sigh, “You see?”

Keith narrowed one eye, some of that incensed flush creeping back into his cheeks.

“You wound me up on _purpose_?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

There were a stilted few seconds of hot breaths and furrowed brows, and then Keith stormed on his heel and thudded down the stairs.

 _Whoops_ , Lance thought as he stood there in his towel (which was now at risk of falling loose - he was glad it had the decency to wait until Keith had gone), perhaps he’d gone too far. It had been worth it though. His veins ran with thick, eager energy. He felt like he could fight. He felt like he could leap over the house if he wanted.

Hauling on trousers and a button up shirt, Lance skidded down the stairs and came to a sliding halt by the kitchen, almost falling over on his injured ankle. Keith pointedly kept his back turned to him despite his noisy entrance.

“Look, I’m sorry for winding you up”-

“Did you mean it?”

Lance’s breaths were shallow. “Which part?”

“The part about…” Keith poured boiling water from a kettle into a mug. “About me having a messiah complex.”

Lance gulped. _Shit_.

“I mean…” He attempted a half-hearted laugh and Keith’s shoulders tensed, “You’ve always been a bit of a hero, Keith, but that’s not your fault.” He said honestly. “I used to think you had one, but I was just jealous.”

Keith stopped pouring and carefully replaced the kettle, turning to face Lance with a cool tilt of his head.

“Oh, really?”

Lance guessed he deserved this. He’d been a jerk to Keith this morning. He deserved to swallow his pride.

He nodded deliberately. “I was always jealous of you, Keith. Didn’t you know?”

Keith shrugged noncommittally, turning back to what looked like coffee, stirring it with precision.

“Shiro said something like that once.”

 _Of course he did_. “Well, there’s your answer. Like I said, I was testing something. And now I know the answer. I won’t start on you like that again.”

Keith’s arm was crossed over his chest, one hand resting on his shoulder. Lance wanted to reach out and rest his fingers over-top while Keith’s back was turned. He didn’t. He backed away a few paces instead.

“How lucky I am,” Keith said, “that I get to be your guinea-pig.”

Lance’s insides jumped with guilt. “You’re not”-

Keith spun around, his mouth a hard line. “You literally just said you were _‘testing something’_. Fuck you.”

He deserved that too. “I’m sorry.”

“Maybe I like being a good person, Lance.” Keith continued, regarding him with harsh displeasure, “What’s wrong with helping people? If your ‘jealousy’ of me extends so far as to you not being able to stand it when I do something good for the world, then that’s your problem, not mine.”

Lance remained silent. Because he was right. He knew he was right. He’d spent countless hours thinking the same thing, but he’d never done anything about it. He’d spent the last two weeks dishing out insults and crying on Keith’s shoulder; he deserved to take some of the truth back.

It was funny how two weeks ago he would have crumbled under the weight of Keith’s severe judgement or simply lashed out until he was sure he’d beaten Keith down with his words. Now he just stood there and took it because… well, it was true. And he didn’t cry. He didn’t hurl his fists at Keith’s face or throw childish insults at him. He just absorbed every word and allowed his guilt to do the rest.

But it was a different kind of guilt to the usual, all-consuming gnawing entity that kept him hidden away for days at a time. It was a guilt to remind him of what he’d done - or rather _hadn’t_ done over the past ten years.

“I think it’s incredible, Keith.” He began quietly, “I think it’s incredible what you’ve achieved.”

Keith held back, brow creased as if he was waiting for the punchline. When none came, he gulped and his cheeks pinked under the weight of Lance’s gaze.

“Thanks…” He mumbled, “But that’s not what I”-

“I know,” Lance interrupted, “And you’re right. My jealousy was shit, and it came from me. Completely. I was always bitter about how much better you were…”

“Better?” Keith repeated the word like it left an awful taste in his mouth. “I was never better. You went through crap, Lance. We all knew, and we all understood, even if we couldn’t empathize.”

Lance shook his head, dropping his eyes to the floor. “I wish you’d stop excusing my shitty actions because of what happened.”

“I’m not excusing it,” Keith supplied, “You’re kind of a jerk sometimes, but no one should have to go through all that, especially so young. You were a kid. We both were. And it took me a long time to understand why you disappeared.”

Lance met his eyes, his heart thudding faster with each second that passed. Keith’s mouth tipped up at one corner.

“Saying that…” He smirked, “You can still be incredibly dense. I mean… _testing something_? Really?”

“Maybe pissing you off wasn’t the best way to see if I’m getting better.”

Keith rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now as the gravity of how ridiculous of a morning this had been hit them.

“I could have told you you’re getting better.” Said Keith. “All you had to do was ask. I’m a pretty straightforward guy, Lance.”

“I envied you for that too,” Lance admitted, leaning against the counter, “you were always so… simple. I overthink everything.”

“Did you just call me stupid?”

“No, no!” Lance hurried, but Keith was grinning. “Asshole, you knew what I meant.”

Keith brought the coffee to his lips, eyeing Lance from under his incredibly long lashes. In that moment, as he sipped the tar-like substance and casually flipped his hair over his shoulder, Lance decided he was beautiful.

The thought struck him like a hammer to the face, and his mind stammered to string coherent ideas together as he considered this.

He’d thought Keith was talented. He’d thought Keith was stubborn. He’d thought Keith was brave and heroic and strong and everything else but he’d never actively thought he was _beautiful_.

He thought the sky on Llarth was beautiful. He thought a well-oiled ship engine was a beautiful piece of machinery to behold. He thought the way Acxa looked at Veronica was beautiful. And now, his brain informed him, he thought Keith was beautiful too - even as he dribbled coffee down his chin.

“Beautiful.” Said Lance.

Keith flicked coffee at him. 

* * *

After breakfast, Keith fetched Lance a roll of sandpaper from his ship so he could polish his stone. He handed it over somewhat reluctantly with a plethora of _“you know this is gonna take a while?”_ ’s and _“it’s just a stupid rock”_ ’s. Lance knew that, but… he wanted to erode away the rough, dark stone inhibiting the stone’s glow. He wanted to transform it. He wanted to unleash its full potential as a rock - because it was pretty and he had nothing else to do - not with his ankle the way it was. There was no chance of him running laps or trudging around Llarth’s most attractive spots anytime soon.

So, to prove how dedicated he was to making this ‘stupid rock’ into something, he sat in the meadow for hours, watching Llarth’s suns travel across the sky as he relentlessly sanded away layers of rough rock. Keith was right. This was fucking hard. And as the day began to recede, so did the skin on Lance’s fingers. He was forced to stop when his wrists gave in. He hadn’t made much progress on filing down its hardest, darkest side but he had managed to sort out a lot of his thoughts. The up and down monotony of rubbing the heart stone was the rhythm Lance needed to consider his revelation about Keith this morning.

He thought Keith was beautiful. So what? It was nothing to panic over. He was allowed to find his friends beautiful. Besides, he was sure this was a passing fascination. Perhaps it was his old jealousy getting confused and trying to adjust into something more… mature. That sounded logical. The conflict arose from the juxtaposition of Lance’s logic with the acceleration of his heartbeat, however, when he considered the prospect that there was a good chance he’d end up tangled up in Keith’s arms again tonight. His feelings on the matter were very obviously _not_ born from logic, and that bothered him. Maybe it was something in the air. Lance lay back in the tall grass, worn out and sniffed the air around him suspiciously. No. That couldn’t be it. If that was the case, surely everyone would be frolicking naked amongst the grasses… not that Lance wanted to frolic naked with Keith in the grasses. The idea sent hysterical laughter bubbling out of him as he gazed at the darkening, passing clouds above.

No… the truth was, he was touch-starved. Lance cringed at the thoughts, but it was true. And it was his own fault.

A few years back, Lance had gone through a phase of sleeping with anyone who showed him the slightest interest. He’d go to a nightclub, get blind drunk and take the hand of the first person who offered it. After months of this, Lance finally hit a low point, unable to bear the cold withdrawal of a nameless stranger leaving his bed. Leaving his life. Leaving him to drown in regret and shame. The short burst of excitement was never worth it, and usually, neither were the strangers he picked up.

Most of them only did it because of his face. Because of who he used to be. Because he was famous. Because he’d been granted life-long immunity by the state for ‘saving the universe.’ He wanted to tell them the person they should be thanking was dead. But he didn’t. Then the questions would follow, and he’d have to talk about… _her_.

Lance sighed, picking himself out of the grasses and limping the short distance back to the house, sandpaper and stone in hand.

He thought Keith was beautiful, and he had no idea how this would change things.

As it turned out, not so much - at least not in a way that made Lance worry Keith had noticed. Their bizarre routine continued. They’d go to sleep in their separate beds, Lance would wake up crying from his nightmare, and they’d fall asleep in each other’s arms. Then Lance would wake up with a gut plummeting sensation and dart to the shower where he doused himself in icy water to keep his body in check. It wasn’t listening to him. _It never listened._ But Keith hadn’t noticed… not yet.

Usually they bickered in the mornings, but it was never serious. And it usually ended with Lance saying something to make Keith roll his eyes and smile with a shake of his head. This burst of energy in the morning gave Lance the fuel he needed to limp out to the fields of flowers and sit by the river, listening to the water trickle all day while he wore away rough brown rock to reveal some more of the embered heart stone beneath. They were getting used to each other; adjusting to this strange domesticity. Lance liked to think it was mutually beneficial. He liked to think Keith might be getting something out of this too… he just didn’t know what. But he was tired of asking, because it was always the same answer:

“I just wanted some company.”

He tried to bring it up with both Shiro and Veronica over the phone but they both told him to stop overthinking it and just be grateful he had a friend close enough to let him stay for so long. And that was another thing - there was a ticking clock in Lance’s mind, counting down day by day, second by second, and he had no idea when it would run out. Was he running out of time here? When would Keith want him gone? When would he be deemed well enough to go home? The more Lance pondered these questions, the wider the gnawing anxiety in his heart grew, and the faster he chipped away at the heart stone.

His thoughts circled and their routine continued like this for over a week, and by then Lance’s ankle was almost healed. At least enough so he could venture beyond the fields and walk in the direction of the bubble-like buildings where Keith had taken him last time. The winding, sunny markets outside of them were always bustling, and Lance took to taking the stone and sandpaper with him as he aimlessly wandered the markets. He decided he must look crazy, sanding a piece of rock as he walked around without buying anything. But it was fine. No one seemed to notice. In fact, Lance started to notice _them_. He couldn’t help but see how the majority of the people at the market had disabilities of some-kind. There were customers in hovering chairs with limbs missing, eyes missing, filigrees of strange patterns laced across their skin from unknown diseases… and not only the customers, but the sellers too. It was hard to tell species by species, but Lance recognized Alteans who mostly appeared to have been suffering from one ailment or another, and the only people in the market who weren’t seemed to be those looking after them. Like nurses. Or carers.

So the question remained: what the fuck was Keith doing _here_?

Actually, what was _he_ doing here?

Had he been conned into thinking he was being sent on a vacation instead of the hospital when… in fact… the vacation _was_ the hospital?

It was after this disturbing realization that Lance left the market in a panicked haze, abandoning the stone to his pocket as he figured out how to ask Keith about this on the walk home. He didn’t want to _confront_ him exactly. He didn’t want an argument. He had no doubt now that whatever Keith’s intentions were for bringing him here, they were good… he just didn’t want any more lies. If this was some kind of refuge centre, he wanted to know about it. And he didn’t want to feel like a crazy person anymore. The past week had been so normal - so mundane; he didn’t want to shatter the illusion yet.

Besides, he wasn’t ready to leave.

Lance pushed open the front door, hands raw and the question ready in a breath on his tongue, but -

“Lance, I gotta ask you something.”

Lance gulped back his thoughts as Keith stepped in front of him. The setting sun painted thick crimson stripes across Keith’s angular features and his violet eyes were wide and apprehensive.

Lance forced a smile. “Sure. Wassup?”

Keith clicked his tongue and dropped his gaze, his long-eyelashes sweeping downward. It should be illegal for men to have eyelashes that long, Lance thought. And it should be illegal for said men to flutter them in such a way and give long, full sighs and smile like _that_ -

“Do you want me to leave?” Lance blurted after a silence.

Keith’s expression transformed into horror. “What?! No! What - where did you get that from?”

Lance felt some of the tension unwind from his shoulders. “Sorry. I don’t know. I-It just came out.” He gave a nervous laugh, pushing a hand through his hair.

“I wouldn’t ask you to leave.” Said Keith, his low voice edged with hurt.

“I know,” Lance reassured him, “I just - really don’t want to. Sorry. It’s been one of those days.”

Keith’s features softened and he offered him one of those god-sent side-smiles.

“ _As I was saying”_ -

“You weren’t saying anything you just looked awkward as hell”-

“We need to sort out the sleeping arrangements.”

That shut Lance up. He blinked. “S-sleeping arrangements?”

This was it. Keith had finally got sick of his screaming. Or, worse, he’d noticed Lance’s morning… _excitement. ‘It’s not my fault, Keith! My body doesn’t listen to me! Please don’t make me sleep alone.’_ The pre-thought protests scrambled to the forefront of Lance’s mind, ready to present themselves to his poor housemate.

“Oh.” It came out strangled.

“I was thinking...” Keith started, clearing his throat, “We should probably just share a bed.”

The floor disappeared under Lance’s feet. His mouth went dry.

“Share a” - he couldn’t bring himself to repeat the full sentence. Keith wanted to _share a bed with him?!_

“We don’t have to.” Keith rushed in, the apprehension behind his dark eyes making a lot more sense now. “I just thought seeing as we always end up sleeping next to each other anyway.”

If Lance hadn’t been so shaken, he would have snorted. _Next to each other._ Huh. _All over each other_ would be a better evaluation of the past few nights’ events.

Lance discovered he was nodding. “No. Yeah. Great idea.” He said it all in breaths.

_GREAT IDEA!? YOU FUCKING IDIOT, HE’S GONNA FEEL YOUR EREC-_

Keith smiled. “Okay. Dinner in ten.”

_What the fuck was he doing?_

* * *

Lance found dinner agonizing, and he couldn’t bring himself to make more than light small talk with Keith. All the possibilities of what could go wrong rattled him from the inside out, the issue of his lower half being the most pressing of them all. It was so fucking typical. For about three years solid he’d found it almost impossible to even get hard, never mind have it spring to attention in the presence of a man he’d known for most of his life. Screw that, he hadn’t even been able to jerk himself off properly before this - now he was taking cold showers every morning and night to suppress the urge. And that was only after a few _hours_ in bed with Keith…

Now he was going to suffer whole nights.

Whole nights with an extremely obvious bulge threatening to give him away. He guessed if it happened once, he could laugh it off as a random boner or some shit. That happened to people all the time, right? Hell, it probably even happened to Keith. It was natural for guys to wake up hard. Easily explainable.

Not if he was discovered more than once.

Then he might be tempted to curl up on the couch and curse his erection until the end of time because, fuck. The idea of Keith finding out how Lance had started thinking about him was… excruciating.

Lance’s panic escalated to full-scale sweating-and-nervously-laughing-every-other-sentence mode come bedtime. It would be weird if he went to bed later - he’d have to crawl in next to an already sleeping Keith and he just _didn’t_ want to do that, so here he was.

_And Keith was pushing the beds together._

“A little help?” Keith ground out, lifting one side all by himself.

Lance nodded, mouth dry, and helped him lift the other bed. The partition that had separated them before folded neatly into the wall opposite, doubling the size of the bedroom. They’d created a double bed from their two, previously divorced ones, and it sat invitingly in the centre of the room.

There was no going back now.

They both stood there and stared at it. Lance had no idea what to say. Did they just… get in now?

“Which side do you prefer?” Asked Keith, as though he were asking what flavour of ice-cream Lance liked best.

Lance shrugged. “Either.”

“I’ll take the left side then.” Keith conceded with a yawn.

“‘Kay. I’m going to the - the bathroom.” Lance tripped over his words _and_ tripped on the way to the bathroom, earning him an amused snort from Keith. How the _fuck_ was he so casual about this?

Lance stared at himself in the mirror after his cold shower (which had done virtually nothing to alleviate his pounding heart and burning skin), hauling in deep breaths and allowing each steady drip of water falling from his hair to his nose to sober him. He was overanalyzing again. They were just sharing a bed because it was practical for Lance’s nightmares. Keith probably hated being woken every night only to have to crouch at his side and soothe his tears until he fell asleep in his lap. This would be… easier.

And also harder.

Literally.

Shaking his head and pulling on his pajamas, Lance left the bathroom.

Keith was already in bed, propped up against two pillows, a book open in his palm and a pair of silver-rimmed glasses resting on his nose.

Lance felt a twinge in his gut at the oddly domestic scene and he quite thought he’d like to walk out to this every night. He was so taken aback that he couldn’t even muster a joke about Keith’s eyesight.

Keith barely glanced up as Lance inched into bed beside him, the perfume of Keith's citrusy shower gel filling the space.

As Lance listened to the race of his pulse, trying to calm it, he realized how comfortable this silence was. Every now and again it was broken by the soft rustle of a page turning. Finally, he found his voice.

“You read books the old way.”

Keith laughed a little through his nose. “I prefer it.”

“I never got the difference between books and digital.” Lance lied, because he was a cynical bastard. “And don’t say something dumb like _it’s the smell_ , because if you like the smell of books, you have a fetish.”

Keith laughed hard then. “A fetish? You don’t get out much.”

“Neither do you if you get off to the smell of books.”

“I never”-! Keith stopped when he saw Lance grinning up at him from the pillows, hands thrown behind his head. “Jerk.”

“Mullet.”

“You’re never gonna stop, are you?”

“Nope.”

Keith closed his book quietly, setting it on the floor by the bed.

“I didn’t know you had to wear glasses.” Said Lance with genuine curiosity.

“Yeah.” Keith sighed, “I’m getting old.”

“No you’re not, you’re only” - Lance broke off. Shit. How old _was_ he? There was that time he spent a couple of years on the back of a space whale that aged him a little, so… “Fuck,” he breathed, “You’re like, thirty.”

“Thirty-one in a couple months.”

 _Fuck_. The reality of time hit him as he gazed at Keith’s face with new eyes. He suddenly became very aware of the tiny lines by his eyes, the five-o’clock shadow threatening to grow into something that needed shaving… he didn’t feel real.

“You can close your mouth now, Lance.” Said Keith.

“Fuck.” He repeated. “Fuck, you’re old.”

Keith shrugged. “I’m only thirty, Lance. I’m not. Especially not by my people’s standards.”

Lance frowned, sitting up in bed so he was level with Keith. “You mean… Galra?”

He nodded. “Their - _our_ life-spans are much longer than the average human’s. I’m not sure how much it’ll affect me because I’m only half, but… if I’m anything like them, my aging process will slow down real soon. I think it already has to be honest. Except for my eyesight maybe. That’s gone to shit.” He tried to joke, but it fell flat.

Lance’s thoughts were a paradigm. He hadn’t even thought - even _considered -_

“Don’t look at me like that,” Said Keith, “Please.”

“Sorry.” Said Lance, staring ahead of him instead.

“That’s even worse. What’s wrong?”

Lance didn’t know how to answer. He was frozen, like all the muscles in his body had ceased and all he could think about was the fact he’d probably die before Keith. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. He was still young. He was twenty-eight. He had time. So much time. Yet so little…

“What are you thinking?” Keith asked, softer. He took off his glasses and he looked a little more like the Keith Lance knew best.

“I dunno, man I just - I don’t want to waste my life. You know what I mean? Sorry to get all deep…”

“Don’t be.”

“I haven’t been thinking about time. At least, not in relation to myself. I mean… when I was younger I thought I was invincible. I thought we all were.”

Keith was quiet beside him. “Me too.” He replied sadly, and Lance wondered whether they were thinking about the same things.

Usually, when he considered how naive he’d been as a kid, he thought of Allura. But now for some reason he could only think of his own life; of all the time he’d spent alone, hiding away from the world when he was still so young. A surge of sorrow almost overwhelmed him then, and he was more grateful for Keith’s presence now than he’d ever been.

They looked up at each other at the same time, each pair of eyes reflecting a different kind of melancholy, but each understanding the other’s perfectly. It was an inexplicable moment of harmony - one Lance found he couldn’t break.

Keith glanced downward. “I’m glad you’re here.” He murmured.

“Me too.” Said Lance, meaning it more than he could express. “If I wasn’t here, I don’t know where I’d be.” _If you hadn’t saved me, I don’t know what I would have done._

* * *

 

They’d said goodnight to each other after that, and suffice to say, their conversation had more than obliterated Lance’s libido for the time being. He could think of nothing but his revelation about Keith. As a result, he’d completely forgot to ask about Llarth and its high population of injured, but the matter seemed inconsequential in light of this new nugget of information he’d been too self-absorbed to see before.

When he finally drifted off, his sleep already disturbed by thoughts of wasting his life, he only had an hour or so of sleep before he was awoken by the shift in his psyche from unconsciousness to nightmares. This time, Keith was right there in the bed to catch him as he shot upright, drenched in cold sweat and tears. He fell right back down, succumbing to the sobs and let Keith silently wind his arms around his middle and pull him into his chest. Lance buried his face into the crook of Keith’s neck and they fell asleep just like that. Unless Lance was fooling himself (which he probably was) this was a lot more comfortable than before, and he’d woken up from the nightmare much sooner. It hadn’t been allowed to play out until the end, and he wondered if Keith had helped wake him up before it had reached a point where it was unbearable.

The next morning, Lance untangled himself from Keith as usual, and blasted himself with an icy shower, as usual. And, as usual, he got out and gave himself a long, hard look in the mirror. When had he started doing that? When had he made the transition from throwing a towel over it so he didn’t have to look at himself to actively seeking out his reflection? He traced the marks on his face, the last gift Allura had given him, and felt a tiny flicker of… something. Not quite pain. Not quite happiness. But definitely not nothing.

He was healing.

And he had a heartstone to polish.

Keith was still asleep when Lance quietly closed the bathroom door behind him and got dressed in a rush. As he pulled on his trousers, he allowed himself a few precious seconds of gazing at Keith’s wonderfully oblivious form in sleep. He smiled to himself this time when he thought ‘he really is beautiful’ and didn’t even bother grabbing breakfast as he bounded out of the house, getting to work on sanding the stone right away.

The morning air was crisp with promise and dew. It wet Lance’s feet through his shoes as he marched down the bank by the river, relishing the soft mosses and moist air pinching the tip of his nose.

His mind was clear, rather than empty. It was a new feeling - and one he quite liked. He reached the markets before he knew he’d been heading that way and spent a good half an hour perusing the stalls. He was on the verge of buying a box of purple eggs to make an omelette for Keith when a burst of orange winked in the corner of his eye.

He spun around, thinking of the heart stone for a second, but it was clutched firmly in his hands. Lance squinted through the growing crowds and - there it was again - bobbing up and down in tandem with the flow of people. Familiarity stirred in Lance’s abdomen, and he abandoned the eggs, opting to follow the orange head weaving through the crowds. It was only when he rounded the corner into a less populated area of the market-place did he get a full view of the man he’d been following.

Stuck to the ground by the weight of his shock, Lance didn’t have time to turn and run as he’d planned before the man saw him too. They were face to face, separated only by yards and years. The markings on their faces were exactly the same, but pre-faced with entirely different experiences. The loss they’d shared echoed between them, amplified by astonishment as they both registered that their meeting was not a hallucination.

“Well, if it isn’t our very own blue paladin.” Said Coran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to @dani-dan for probably being the most keen reader so far. Your comments & messages after every update really make me smile!


	9. Swan's Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *DISCLAIMER: I didn't watch Season 8, so this is where some of the canon knowledge might get a little shaky. I feel like I've seen/read enough about it to have got the general gist, but if I've made any glaring mistakes please tell me and I'll correct it or tweak what I've written to fit better! Thanks :)  
> *DISCLAIMER 2: There is explicit sexual content in this chapter, so be warned if that's not your thing.

**_10 Years Earlier_ **

 

The days were dark, shrouded in tension and mist, smothering the celebratory mood with grief. Her absence unbalanced him more than anything. To comprehend that she was… _dead -_  it was too much.

For now, it felt like she’d simply gone away forever.

Pain rung out like a dying swan’s call, striking the hollowness in his chest with loss. Two days later, Lance finally left his room, the skin on his face tight with hours-dried tears. He went to find Pidge first. The pity on her face was enough to make him want to retreat back inside. Then he found Hunk, who enveloped him in one of those glorious hugs, and he cried for an hour more. Shiro wrapped Lance’s hand in his - and the empathy there was palpable. He’d lost Adam. He knew how it felt. Somehow, the knowledge that Shiro understood his grief perfectly didn’t soothe him. Next, he sought out Keith, who gazed at him with a mixture of bewilderment and sorrow. His teammate’s hand on his shoulder echoed of a time when Lance had done the same to him. The bitterness that tore through Lance at the memory tore him away from Keith, and he turned his back on his ex-rival without a word.

And then there was the man who Lance dreaded facing the most. The man who knew Allura better than any of them. The man who didn’t get to say goodbye.

Lance knew where he’d be without searching, and his legs ached with tension as he made himself walk to the quarters where she’d slept.

Lance stumbled to the doorway, the words he’d practiced halted on his lips at the sight he found in Allura’s bedroom.

Coran was crouched on the floor, shoulders shaking with barely suppressed sobs as he clutched Allura’s blue cape in his hands, pressing his tears into the soft fabric and saying her name over and over as though it might bring her back.

_“I’m sorry Allura… I’m sorry Alfor, Melenor… I failed all of you… I’m so sorry...”_

And Lance ran, the backs of his eyelids burning with the image even as he squeezed them shut, the whisper of Coran’s haunting words drowning out the swan’s call in his chest.

He ran and he couldn’t look back.

 

**_Now_ **

 

Ensconced in the couch cushions, Lance made himself as small as possible, both mentally and physically trying to escape this interaction. Coran was whistling and teasing C.A.T from where he sat opposite Lance, oblivious to the tension, and Keith watched them both from behind the breakfast bar as he made drinks, flicking his gaze between them in not-so-subtle-exasperation. 

Coran laughed as C.A.T beeped and whirred in response to him hovering a banana peel above his ears. "Funny little thing, isn't he?" He said cheerily. 

Lance sank deeper into the couch. Keith coughed. 

When Lance had seen Coran in the market place half an hour ago, he'd wanted to run - but the old Altean's eyes held him firmly in place, and he found he couldn't move. Then had proceeded one of the most bizarre reunions he'd ever had when Coran yanked him into a strong one-armed hug and proclaimed with tears in his eyes that everything was falling into place. Apparently he visited Keith quite often but had no idea he was back on Llarth and made to accompany Lance home. Coran had a walking stick, and his gait was somewhat lopsided as he animatedly kept up with Lance's nervous strides on the way back. So far, the past hadn't arisen, but the old man's off-kilter eyes glittered with knowing, and Lance was terrified. 

It had been a long long time since he'd seen Coran.

And the old Altean had been rather different back then. 

Perhaps it was guilt that had kept Lance from contacting him. No, not perhaps. Definitely. 

He fidgeted uncomfortably again as Coran accepted a glass of something steamy and purple from Keith. “Ah, my favourite.” He sighed happily, sipping what looked like hot juice. Lance shot Keith a heated glance. Where was _his_ hot juice? Better yet, why was Coran on Llarth?

Of course, none of these questions could be answered with a look, so Lance consoled himself with picking fluff off the cushion and flicking it onto the floor until C.A.T whizzed to around his ankles and hoovered up the lint. 

“I’m glad to see you two have finally got together.” Said Coran with a wink after downing his juice. Lance was glad he didn’t have a drink, because he would have spat it out. His eyes found Keith, who’d blanched. Coran blinked. “...and settled your differences.” He added after a pause that was far too long to excuse the first half of the sentence.

Lance cleared his throat. “Yeah. Well. Uh. Keith let me come and stay for a while.”

“I did.” Keith clarified stiffly. His knuckles were white on the counter-top. “Lance has never been to Llarth.”

Lance tried not to grimace and found he couldn’t meet Keith’s eyes. His panic mounted when the other man swiped his watch off the counter, swung on his jacket and announced, “I’m heading out for some things. I’ll see you later. Coran, stay for dinner, won’t you?” But he didn’t give their guest a chance to answer before he bolted from the house and jetted down the lane. Lance watched him go, seething. This was worse than the time he’d left him alone with James. He’d get an earful for this later. The silence left in Keith’s wake was suffocating, and Lance felt like a boy again, drowned by confusion and terror and anxiety.

“S-so…” He said tightly into the silence. “How are you doing?”

What a stupid fucking question. All Lance could see was the man he knew to be strong and positive at the worst of times crouched in Allura’s bedroom, his entire being wracked with grief as he tenderly clung onto her clothes and cried. The man before him was older, visibly so, his hair thinner and a dimmer shock of orange, and he was doing that thing again where he pinned Lance down with his eyes. Lance stared at his feet in return.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t stay and help you, Lance.”

At this, Lance whipped his head up and met Coran’s watery gaze. “Wh”-

“I thought about it many times,” He continued, the deep lines entrenched in his face twisted with guilt, his worn markings a paler shade of blue than Lance’s turquoise ones. "I couldn't bring myself to face my many mistakes. When I thought about offering to take you away from it all, I decided I couldn't fail another person like that again. But my inertia was a failure within itself, and for that I can never expect forgiveness." 

Lance jumped up, flinging the cushion sideways, “Coran, no! Th-that was me! I… _I_ couldn’t face _you_.”

The old Altean blinked, taken aback. Lance ran a hand through his hair, breathing heavily with relief as the words he’d wanted to pour out from the day it had happened escaped him.

“I couldn’t face you, Coran.” He repeated. “ _Yes_ , I was young. _Yes_ , I was confused and lost and terrified without her but - she was everything to you. You were like her father. Hell, you were like an uncle to me. I should have been stronger. I shouldn’t have been scared of your grief, Coran, but…” He gave an unsteady laugh, “Fuck, I was. And maybe that’s because I was frightened of my own. I’m still frightened. I’m sorry.”

A short silence followed, and from Coran’s expression he had no idea what would come next. He shouldn’t have been surprised when he stood, tears flowing freely down his face as he grasped Lance’s shoulders, pulling him into a much warmer embrace than the one-armed one he’d greeted him with.

“Oh, Lance.” He got out, “I’m so sorry. I should have known you would take it all on yourself. You were always like that, from the moment you freed us.”

Lance returned the hug, sniffing back the lump in his throat. But despite the raw emotion, he was smiling, It was like a huge weight he hadn’t known was there had been liberated from his chest. The lightness of saying it all was startling, and the relief that Coran bore no resentment towards him made his heart soar. The shame that had stifled his courage  was slowly dissipating, he realized, and he wondered how long it had been seen he’d acknowledged the feeling as such; he’d grown so used to the gnawing sensation in his abdomen, he’d dismissed it as normal, but now it was being chipped away, moment by moment. After their explosive confessions of guilt, the awkward tension subsided, and Lance found his heart racing with newfound hope as he animatedly chatted with Coran. Besides Keith, he couldn’t think of a time when he’d talked to anyone like this, let alone someone so closely entwined in his past.

“Where did you go?” Asked Lance after Coran gave him an in depth breakdown of the new politics of the Galran and Altean alliance. “After… after everything, I mean?”

Coran’s expression darkened. “I suppose you don’t know much about the way bonds between Altean families work.” He sighed, leaning back into the sofa and crossing his legs. Despite his age, Coran still had an air of the nimble, quick-footed man he used to be, and he dominated the space with a surprising air of elegance.

Lance shook his head and waited for him to continue.

“My family had been tied with Allura’s for generations. We were less like servants and more like… carers. Friends. It’s difficult to explain without experiencing it. Anyway, thanks to the properties of the bond, I was the party responsible for Allura’s death.”

Lance made to protest, but Coran held up a hand,

“It doesn’t matter the circumstances. I failed to uphold my duty to her family, so the bond between us was broken and I had to exile myself.”

Icy horror curled through Lance’s blood. “But, Coran you - Altea didn’t exist anymore so… how could you exile yourself?”

“I had to leave Earth; the last place where she was. I had to leave all of you and make my presence scarce for fear of being perceived as negligent at my failings.”

Lance swallowed back his dread. “None of us would have blamed you. Ever. You did everything for her… and us.”

“And it wasn’t enough.” Said Coran at length.

“I don’t understand. It’s so unfair.” Lance couldn’t accept it. Worse still, he’d been forced to leave, alone… Lance had had his entire family. The whole team. Everyone. And still wound up on his own out of sheer will. A familiar nugget of self-hatred lodged in his throat.

“It’s the way the bond works,” Said Coran with a sad smile. “It may be archaic, but it’s how it had to be. I felt it snap as soon as…” He trailed off, unable to say it. But Lance knew.

“There are ways we Alteans interacted with each other that are impossible for humans to comprehend. Our bloodlines ran deep, melded with the earth and the animals. We were at one with everything if we chose it. Some could tap into this power and influence nature. You’ve seen it yourself. It was the gift Allura was given at birth.”

Lance nodded, remembering with abject fondness how she’d healed the Balmera, Shiro, and then himself. He gulped.

“I dreamt about her afterward. I couldn’t stop seeing it. I couldn’t shake the image of her walking away, into the light. I dreamt about it for about half a year.” He didn’t say that these dreams were the trigger to his bitterness; the seedlings of self-loathing and an aversion to the task Allura had entrusted him with.

Coran was watching him carefully, eyes narrowed. “I dreamt of the same thing.” He said slowly.

There was an implication in Coran’s words, and Lance was struggling to find it. “Exactly the same?” 

Coran nodded slowly, carding thoughtful fingers through his thinning mustache.

“How did you see it?”

“...see it?”

“Was it from your point of view or hers?”

Lance gulped, trying to suppress the images from resurfacing. “...hers.” He’d never admitted it out loud before, it felt too strange to say. He hated the idea he was conceited enough to put himself in her shoes, reimagining the end of her life as though it had happened to himself. The searing, agonizing light stripping him of his life… _her_ life.

Coran slid off the sofa to kneel in front of Lance, eyes alight with alarm. They fell to the marks on his face. Lance drew back instinctively.

“Uh”-

Coran lifted his fingers to the marks, tracing the right one Lance had cut with fascination.

“But how?” He whispered to himself.

Lance tensed. “How what?” He asked, “Coran, you’re freaking me out.”

Coran appeared to come out of his thoughts and sucked in a deep breath, his narrowed stare finding Lance’s again.

“Have you had any more dreams like this, Lance? I need you to be completely honest.”

He nodded fervently. “I’m having them right now. Every night. Nightmares.”

Coran withdrew, gazing at Lance with new wonder. Thankfully, he didn’t attempt to touch his face again as Lance recalled each detail of the nightmare he could remember. He tried to detach himself from the feel of not being able to breathe, from the burning, from his - the dream-Lance’s - strange mother. But it was hard. He could sense the sweat breaking out on his forehead at the intricate recalling of it. When it was over, Coran sat still and silent for an unbearable length of time. Lance’s mind began to wander as he waited for the old Altean to respond, and he’d begun lazily following the path of a grazing sheep in the meadow outside so when Coran jumped up, nearly knocking the snoozing C.A.T over who whirred in protest, Lance caught his breath, gazing at Coran with anticipation.

Coran sat down again almost immediately, wincing and holding his hip.

“I shouldn’t do that, I forget I’m old.” He said, massaging it before fixing Lance with another steely gaze.

“What is it?” Asked Lance, his mouth dry.

“I’ve wondered about it for ten years,” Said Coran, “Why Allura left those markings on your face. You. A human…”

Lance nearly snorted. “I’ve been wondering the same thing myself.”

“Have you ever been tested?”

 _For what, STI’s?_ Lance shook his head. “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

“What am I thinking?” Coran cocked a brow.

Lance gave a long, tired sigh. “You think I’m an Altean now. That she turned me somehow.”

“Absolutely not.” Said Coran.

Even though he knew it, even though he’d long ago accepted that these marks signified nothing except he’d lost the girl he’d once loved, a tiny part of him died to hear it.

“But,” Coran continued, “You could be.”

Lance’s heart fell to his knees. He swallowed, his jaw slack. “H-how?” He managed. “I’m weak. I can’t do anything.”

“You were a paladin of Voltron, Lance. And the partner of a princess.”

“I _was_!” Lance fired back, resentment reclaiming him, “Not anymore. I wasn’t allowed that life.”

Unperturbed by Lance’s outburst, Coran continued to stroke his mustache, deep in thought.

“Princess Allura may have gifted you an Altean life, Lance. All you’d have to do is unlock it.”

Lance was breathing heavily. He wasn’t even aware he’d stood up in outrage. Every fibre of his being rejected the notion as much as they had longed for it to be true so many years ago.

“What does that have to do with my dreams?” He demanded, utterly confused.

Coran finally looked up at him from the sofa. “When two Alteans have a connection, whether that be familial, platonic or romantic, they have the ability to communicate through thought.”

Lance gaped, his heart knocking in his chest. “Me and Allura never - did that.”

“The method is rare,” Coran continued, “and it can be used in times of desperate need. Transmitting thought signals is something Allura and I were able to do in times of great emergency. It is how I found her when Altea was crumbling and Zarkon was going to slaughter her after her parents. Her home was burning, and she was searching for help. I was the only person left alive who was close enough to her to… hear.” Coran choked on the last word at the memory. “And when she died, an echo of her consciousness translated into thought plagued my dreams for half a decapheeb. Just as they did with you. Like a dying”-

“Swan’s call.” Lance finished, his voice hollow.

“I was going to say a _Dobath’s_ call, I don’t know what a Swan is.”

Lance sat back down slowly, his senses tuning out the rest of Coran’s sentence. He shut his eyes and cast his mind back to the moment after she’d kissed him. It had been fraught with tears, painful, a wretched parting ablaze with regret and a loss he hadn’t yet had. Then there’d been the sharp sting of heat on his face, paling into insignificance amongst the turmoil he’d felt in his heart and then - she was gone. He didn’t recall feeling a… _change_. He was still him. Just a more broken him.

He was, regrettably, as human as he had ever been - prone to weakness and heartbreak and bitterness.

Heartbreak.

Lance’s eyes flew open. “Coran,” He panted, interrupting the man’s flow of speech. “Were you…” he struggled, “ _heartbroken_ … when she died?”

Coran’s eyes fell dim. Lance knew that expression. He’d seen it on himself in the mirror so many times.

“Of course.” He replied.

“What about her?” He continued, hoping to be proven wrong. “Was she ever? I mean - Alteans and humans feel things differently, right? You guys are stronger.”

Coran looked at him strangely. “Allura was heartbroken the moment she stepped out of that pod and learnt everything she loved was gone.”

It was like a punch to the chest. The reason he’d never been able to fathom the idea that Allura experienced loss to the same degree he did was because she’d been going through it since the moment they’d met. He’d never known her any other way. He’d never known her truly happy - the few moments they’d had were on the brink of another war, and through all of it she was preparing to lose again… she’d been prepared to sacrifice herself from the very beginning.

He fought tears, tension shifting in his shoulders when Coran continued.

“And then she was broken again when Lotor turned on us. And then again when she discovered he was dead.”

Lance was gripping the heartstone in his pocket so hard that his palms might be bleeding.

“And he was, wasn’t he?” Lance ground out. “Dead?”

“Yes,” Said Coran carefully, “I found out what happened to him after I left Earth, and that is what intrigues me the most about your nightmares.”

Lance tried to even out his shaky breaths. He made himself stay calm as he waited for Coran to explain.

“Honerva discovered Lotor’s body in remains from the rift. He was melded with the Robeast, torn to pieces by the force of the quintessence he’d absorbed. Then” - Lance knew what he was going to say - “She burned his body.”

“That’s what I see. Every night.” He gasped, unable to help the hot liquid spilling from behind his eyelids. “Are you telling me Lotor was conscious of what was happening when his mother found him? And that somehow, he’s communicating with _me_?”

Coran was shaking his head. “I have no idea. He was half-Altean and he had a very firm grasp on the culture so it’s likely he knew about this method of communication… as for how he’s getting through to you, I don’t know.”  
Lance clutched at the roots of his hair, terror rushing through him in short bursts, scattering his thoughts every time he tried to align them.

“He’s fucking dead!” He hissed through gritted teeth. “Is he haunting me or something? Is this some sick revenge for being with her after him? I don’t… get it.”

Minutes passed, and all Lance could hear was his ragged breathing. Multi-coloured spots burst in front of his vision as he squeezed his eyes shut against all the noise and the pain of his memories.

Two cool, dry hands softly enclosed his wrists, too slender to be Coran’s.

“Lance.” Said a soft voice. A voice that soothed him instantly, lulling him into that familiar place of comfort after one of his nightmares. Without thinking, Lance let his hands drop from where they’d curled into fists in his hair, and leaned forward until his forehead butted against a shoulder.

He sniffed. “Where have you been?” He tried to accuse, but his voice was hoarse.

“Just to get some food for later.” Said Keith, an apology in his tone as he enclosed his arms around Lance. “You okay?”

Lance slowly nodded against his shoulder. It shouldn’t be this easy to let Keith embrace him, especially in front of another person, but it was all that seemed to calm his racing heart and his unsteady gasps. He pushed against Keith until he could see Coran again, sitting across from him uncertainly. Lance wiped his eyes and looked down at Keith who was kneeling in front of him as Coran had done.

“Did you know about this?” He asked, watching as Keith’s expression torturously softened into something more understanding.

“I knew of Coran’s suspicions about you.”

“So you think it’s true? You think she made me Altean?”

He didn’t realize Keith was holding his hand until his fingers tightened in a comforting squeeze.

“I don’t know.”

The admission was quiet, ashamed even. And Lance wondered what Keith had to feel guilty over. This wasn’t his battle. But the way he was holding his hand made him feel like it was something they shared. Coran was watching their interaction with a tender curiosity, and Lance tried to school his expression into something that didn’t make it look as though he wanted nothing more than to reach down and tip Keith’s face towards his until their lips locked. The overwhelming urge to do so robbed him of speech, so he feigned neutrality and stood, untangling their fingers.

He sniffed hard, making his way over to the kitchen because he needed to do something with his hands, and said,

“Then I guess we’ll have to find out.”

* * *

 

Dinner with Coran was stilted and awkward after the afternoon’s revelations, but at Lance’s request he returned the next day. It was then that Lance admitted he’d tried to cut the marks off his face during the reunion on Atlas and told him everything of the emotions building over the last ten years that had led him to that point. Coran listened, reserved, until Lance had finished. He was surprised how easy it was to talk about this to the old Altean. After so many years of bottling it all up, he’d have anticipated it to be a lot more difficult. Maybe Coran was just an exceptionally good listener. Or maybe - _maybe_ \- it was getting easier because he was getting better.

“What about your nightmare?” Coran asked, “Was it the same last night?”

Lance hesitated. “Yes… the nightmare was the same but there was a - _how do I put this?_ \- an awareness to it, I guess? It was all I could think about before I went to sleep. I kept thinking about L-Lotor. I kept wondering if it was him doing this to me.”

Coran considered this. “Do you fight the nightmares?”

“Yeah!” Lance proclaimed, “Of course I do! It’s like I can’t breathe. Every damn time…”

“I have a suggestion,” Said Coran, “Try _listening_.”

Lance frowned. “Listening? Why would I…?”

“Remember what I said? Alteans use this method to convey a message when they have no other choice. It could be a calling.”

Lance gnawed his fingernails. He instinctively looked for Keith but the other man had gone upstairs (presumably to read an old book) to give them some privacy. He wished he was here right now, holding his hand. He felt like a kid.

“For what though? From who?”

“That’s for you to find out.” Said Coran enigmatically. 

After he left, Lance rubbed away at the heartstone until one side was gleaming like the surface of a fiery lake. He didn’t bother to leave the house while he did it. He relied on C.A.T to come and sweep away the sanded dust particles gathering in piles at his feet.

“Hey, cat?” The little robot span on its wheels to face Lance. “Know how to read dream messages?”

“NO.” Said C.A.T.

Lance huffed. “Thanks for nothing, kitty.”

“YOU’RE WELCOME.”

Stupid robot.

Lance turned the half-smooth half-rough stone over in his hands, eroding the smooth surface with the pad of his thumb until he could see his reflection. He stared at it, the neon blue marks mingling around the red-orange stone with an odd dissonance that somehow wasn’t appalling. The smooth, oval shape of the stone distorted his features, and he turned it this way and that, watching the shiny fissures catch the lamp-light as evening fell and he stayed there well into the night, opting to eat a light meal on the sofa while he pondered the weight of Coran’s theory. Sometime close to midnight, the back of his neck prickled with heat, and when he looked up it was to find Keith watching him, one foot still on the bottom of the stairs, wire-framed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He must have finished reading.

Lance rubbed around his shoulders, which were sore from being hunched over in the same position for hours.

“You’ve been sat there all day.” Keith supplied as Lance stretched out his legs with a crack. Without knowing why, Lance covered the stone with his hands, discreetly putting it in his pocket. He didn’t want Keith to see it yet. He still couldn’t work out if it was finished. He quite liked its flawed two sides - one rough, one polished. Sanding it down more would feel like overkill.

Keith walked across the room, pushing his glasses further up his nose, and sat beside Lance.

“When you wear those things you look like Shiro.” Said Lance.

Keith chortled. His laugh was gravelly and deep. It was hard to tell whether that was due to his age or a sore throat. Either way, the sound stirred a low pool of arousal behind Lance’s navel. The feeling pulsed in deep, agitated bursts when Keith’s eyes dropped to his hands, chafed and worn from days of sanding, and he reached out and took them in his like it was nothing. Lance held his breath as Keith traced the calluses and dry patches with gentle, feather light touches. He found himself entranced by the subtle changes his angular expression went through as he examined Lance’s skin with the attentiveness of a healer.

“I told you it would be hard.” Keith said, his mouth close enough that his breath raised the hairs on Lance’s wrist.

He exhaled. “It’s worth it.” His voice shook. He hoped Keith didn’t notice. And then, “You should get some sleep.” Because the dark circles under his eyes were there again, as prominent as bruises. A niggling sensation of _wrongness_ twisted in Lance’s stomach as he thought about Keith’s frequent loss of appetite. The greyish tinge to his skin sometimes. The dark, haunting circles under his eyes… but everytime it began to bother him, the problems seemed to right themselves again the next day, and Keith was healthy as ever.

“My mind won’t shut up tonight.” Said Keith.

“Even if you can't sleep, laying there and relaxing might help.” 

Keith shrugged. “I was waiting for you.”

 _So simple… so easily said..._ Lance wouldn’t be able to say something like that without it meaning a thousand things. Not now. His heart stuttered and he felt his face darken under Keith’s intense violet gaze. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say Keith was doing this on purpose.

“You don’t have to.” He argued. “You never have to wait for me.”

Keith gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I want to.” He released Lance’s hands and gave him a look. “You’re stalling.”

Lance pretended to remain innocent. “Stalling?”

“You’re stalling going to bed… you’re even more scared now, aren’t you?”  _Damn it_ , how did he always _know_? There was no point in lying. He nodded. Keith bit his lip. “I’ll be beside you the whole time.”

Lance groaned, leaning back and allowing his spine to flex as he threw his arms over his face.

“I know. And I appreciate i. It helps having you there when I wake up, but… when I’m dreaming, I’m not aware of anything else. You could be screaming my name and - nothing would change. It would still feel just as real. I'd still feel alone.” He thought of the woman. The mother.  _Honerva._ "Mostly."

“What about trying that thing Coran said?”

Lance frowned and looked at him. “Were you listening in on us?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Of course I was.”

“You could have just stood in the room!”

“I didn’t want to distract you.”

“So you eavesdropped instead? Real classy, Keith.”

Keith grinned, his canines sharper than the average human’s - how had Lance not noticed before? He pictured Keith using them to sink into the flesh on his neck, not enough to _really_ hurt but enough to - _no._ He blinked, attempting to push the thought from his mind, but Keith’s teeth were very very white.

“I’m sneaky like that.” His voice dropped nearly an octave. The tone shivered through Lance, shooting straight down his spine to settle behind the whirlpool of sensation behind his naval.

He shook his head with a laugh, folding his legs over his groin… if he wasn’t careful, his growing arousal would become extremely apparent. Time for him to be sneaky too.

“Okay, Kogane. You win. What thing?” _Change the subject. Change the subject.  Change the subject._

“About listening to the nightmare. Hear what it’s saying.”

“Kind of hard to concentrate when I can’t breathe.”

Keith considered this. “Is it possible to take yourself… _out_? Like… out of the situation?”

Lance shrugged. “I’m always too busy trying to take myself out of the dream. I’ve never tried another way.”

The crease between Keith’s thick brows deepened. “Maybe tonight is the tonight.” He didn’t sound happy about it - no more than Lance felt about the prospect. With a resigned sigh, Lance nodded.

“I guess I can only try?”

Keith offered him a tight smile. “You can only try. And I’ll be right there with you, even if it’s only when you wake up.”

They’d never talked about their post-nightmare cuddles before. Lance wondered whether he should bring it up, but the idea of anything changing scared him nearly as much as the idea of acknowledging how close they sometimes got. He wasn’t sure he wanted to _say_ it. He was scared if he did, he might say more - and his head was already a mess without the prospect of rejection looming over him. Because then what would he do? He’d have to go back home. Or worse, to a hospital. Maybe Coran would let him stay…

No, he was thinking far too deeply about this. Forcing a smile that definitely didn’t reach his eyes, Lance conceded.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

His stomach did somersaults when Keith took his hand and led him to the stairs like it was entirely natural. To him, it was innocent, to Lance, it felt like… he controlled his breathing. It felt like Keith was leading him to bed for an entirely different reason than sleep. He was wearing the loose fitting vest that showed off the contours of his shoulders and his arms again. The contrast of Keith’s well-sculpted frame alongside the wire-framed glasses gave off a strange vibe that Lance couldn’t quite place, but it was one he certainly enjoyed. And he enjoyed it a little too much. He forced himself to look at the floor as Keith took him upstairs. He made himself think about Coran’s mustache and the heat in the pit of his stomach was quenched in seconds.

But it was hard to think about anything except Keith when he was the only person here with him. Lance allowed himself a brief moment to wonder if the only reason he felt like this was because he’d hardly seen another person for weeks, but he knew it wasn’t true. This wasn’t Stockholm Syndrome. All he’d needed was an excuse to spend more time with his former teammate. The foundation for these feelings had always existed, he’d just needed to get past his bitterness first. Looking at him now, the mundane way in which he removed his glasses, cleaning them with his shirt before he peacefully peeled back the blankets, Lance wondered how he ever could have been bitter at all. Keith was beautiful, inside and out. He always had been. A warmth like velvet running through his veins spread throughout his entire being as it fully dawned on him; he was in love with Keith.

A love for his teammates had always been there - it had never left, not even during his years of seclusion. They’d been through too much together. But this was different. This was like falling headfirst over a cliff edge and drowning in a deep ocean and his favorite flavor of ice-cream all at the same time. It was torment and ecstasy. It was terrifying and exhilarating. And it was nothing like it had been with her.

Blissfully unaware, Keith tilted his head at him as he climbed under the blankets.

“Are you alright, Lance?”

Lance remembered to breathe.

“I don’t know. You tell me. Am I alright?”

The hesitant smile Keith returned him with was incredible. “I think you’re just fine. You’ll be even better after a night’s rest.”

Lance didn’t bother to contradict him. They both knew the night would be uneasy, but they’d get through it. Together. Nodding, he ventured into the bathroom to clean and get changed. Once he was sure the door was locked, Lance did his routine reflection check, only this time his eyes were bewildered and his jaw was slack.

“I’m in love with Keith.” He whispered to his reflection, who said it right back to him. He repeated it over and over, the giddy knot of apprehension bouncing inside his ribcage like a bouncy ball hitting a wall. Or was that his heart? There was no way to tell anymore. The lines between reality and imagination had become so blurred and complicated. The lines between his and Keith’s relationship, too. If tonight was like any other night, Lance would fall into a fitful sleep until he was awoken by his dreams and fall back into a slumber in Keith’s arms, only this time he’d have to do it in the knowledge that he was in love with the man holding him, and he had no idea if it could ever be returned.

With that in mind, Lance strode out of the bathroom and switched off the lights, determined not to stare at Keith any longer than he had to, and climbed into bed, deliberately ignoring the warmth of another body by his side.

“Goodnight, Keith.” He said stiffly.

Pause.

“Goodnight, Lance. Remember what Coran said.”

Lance nodded, hoping the sound of his head rustling against the pillow was enough to signify that he’d been heard. He could feel the blankets move in minute oscillations as his heart beat with the force of a bird ramming itself against a cage. He gazed up at the skylight - a display of two orbiting moons and a bejeweled canvas of unfamiliar constellations, his arms by his sides in a utilitarian attempt to suppress his rushing pulse. After a while, his mental turmoil began to subside, and Keith’s breathing beside him became labored. Lance could not have been more awake. Not only was he terrified of falling asleep again for obvious reasons, but he physically couldn’t calm down. Keith’s scent was driving him wild. The aroma of lavender was intoxicating, and his body-heat so close to Lance was even more excruciating. It wasn’t long before his usual arousal began hardening the length between his legs, so much so that the waistband of his pants became uncomfortably tight. Huffing, Lance squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his hands into fists, willing his blood to stop channelling from his brain to his groin. But it was no use. No wonder he couldn’t think straight. Besides, Lance hadn’t exactly done much to relieve this growing tension over the last few weeks. The cold showers were a temporary cure, but they weren’t enough. And he couldn’t take one now - Keith would wake up once the shower started running, and he had no idea how he’d explain that.

So, as quietly as he could, Lance slipped out of bed, his path guided by the soft beams of moonlight illuminating the stairwell. He couldn’t do it in the bathroom… there was no guarantee he'd be able to keep quiet.

Slipping on a pair of shoes, Lance ventured into the warm night, but the gentle breeze only endeavoured to caress his skin in a manner all too similar to Keith’s feathery touch, and he felt a throb of pleasure at the image of Keith doing just that. Leaning against the opposite wall of the house, Lance allowed his hand to drift south and palm teasingly against his arousal through the thin fabric of his pants. He released a breath at the simple freedom of being able to touch himself, and instantly reached full hardness the moment he let his fingers brush over the taught fabric. It would have to be quick. He doubted it would take him long. Lance slipped his hand beyond the material and enclosed his hand around his thick, twitching length, gratifying it with a few long strokes before settling into a rhythm. He allowed his head to rest against the wall as he quickened his pace. He thought about the subtle flex of Keith’s shoulder blades, rippling under the flawless hue of his skin. He thought about the way he stretched in the mornings, arms arcing high above his head and the way his waist dipped as he bent down to touch his toes.

 _“Oh, god…”_ Lance was barely aware of the words leaving his lips as his hand became slick with the moisture beading at the tip.

He pictured laying his fingers over Keith’s restless pulse, slowly trailing his hand down, down, and down until it came to rest over his chest, his abdomen, tracing the line of hair at his navel, further…

The peak of his release built to bursting, and Lance came with a gasp and a choked back cry, thick white ropes painting warm stripes across his stomach. It was fast and desperate, the last ebbs of his pleasure fading into shaky, panted breaths as he wiped his hand on the hard, flat wall behind him and allowed the night air to dry the sweat on his skin.

Opening his eyes, Lance succumbed to the pulse of shame that jolted through him as he felt the slickened plane of his abdomen, wet with his own come.

“What is wrong with me?” He muttered, already knowing the answer.

* * *

 

 


End file.
